


So Let The River Run

by CreativWit



Series: Oceans Away [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Acceptance, Aggressive Behaviors, Bit of sleep deprivation, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical language, Capable!Jaskier, Could be seen as pre-slash if you really want it, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Depressed Jaskier | Dandelion, Depression, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Gen, Geralt trying to be a good bro, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Cares About Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Graphic Talk of Child Abuse/Neglect, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hearing Voices, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Neglect, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Cares about Geralt of Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Jaskier | Dandelion has low self-esteem, Loneliness, Men Crying, Mentioned Filavandrel - Freeform, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Platonically, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Regret, Regretful Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Self-Acceptance, Self-Destruction, Self-destructive habits, Siren!Jaskier, Song: Her Sweet Kiss (The Witcher), Suicidal Thoughts, Suicidal actions, Suicide Attempt, Swearing, referenced past suicide attempt, unless you want it to be shippy, written as platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 48,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23659588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreativWit/pseuds/CreativWit
Summary: On a sleepless night, Jaskier starts hearing a voice in his head, a woman calling for him. At first, he thinks he's losing his mind and tries to rationalize it. But now? Now he's realizing there may be more to this voice than he originally believed. And it might just change his life forever.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Oceans Away [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696483
Comments: 101
Kudos: 276





	1. Sing Me To Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic's chapters used to be split into several different stories, back when I thought it was going to be one thing. After some time, I started to realize that all those fics couldn't stand alone by themselves, especially since I'm planning a sequel, so I decided to combine them into one whole chapter story instead. Unfortunately, AO3 doesn't have a way to take pre-existing fics and smush them all into one story without deleting anything, so all of my previous comments, kudos, and bookmarks have been erased with the original stories. I deleted the original stories themselves to avoid confusion. It's saddening since all of your comments really kept me going and it was nice to look back and read them, but I'll cherish them, knowing that there is more to come. Thank you all so much for sticking through this. I hope you guys still enjoy.

_“Anywhere, anytime,  
_ _I would do anything for you  
_ _Anything for you  
_ _Yesterday got away  
_ _Melodies stuck inside your head  
_ _A song in every breath  
_ _Sing me to sleep now  
_ _Sing me to sleep  
_ _Won’t you sing me to sleep now?  
_ _Sing me to sleep.”_

~ _Sing Me to Sleep_ , Alan Walker

~~~~~~~

Jaskier was no stranger to the ocean. In fact, if he could, he would bed himself alongside the waves, allow them to wash over him and swallow him into its calm embrace. He loved standing amongst the tides, letting the water pool at his feet, raise to knees, bathe him. Jaskier was no stranger to the ocean. He adored it.

Jaskier loved staring into bodies of water, whether it be the ocean itself, or a stream, a lake, a canyon…He loved seeing his reflection staring back at him. Not because he was some kind of narcissist - no, definitely not - but because it just made sense to him, seeing himself in the glistening water. If Jaskier could be anything, it’d be water. Water was just as emotional as he was, so feeling and energetic. When the water was calm, it was still, gentle, quiet. When the water turned angry, it raged, crashed, and roared. When the water cried, it dripped from the sky, or it flooded towns. It gently lapped at the shores, ebbed and flowed.

To Jaskier, nothing in the world could be more beautiful than the ocean.

Then along came Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf. Geralt somehow managed to be everything yet showing nothing at all. He became the black to Jaskier’s white, the story to Jaskier’s words, the rhythm to Jaskier’s songs, and the night to Jaskier’s moon. Everything special about Jaskier was emboldened by Geralt.

Jaskier had his talents, no one ever doubted that. Even so, Jaskier could admit that he’d been a hopeless bard before Geralt came along (maybe that line about hoping a wife would get an abortion wasn’t the best thing he’d come up with), but his lute skills were undeniable. Jaskier knew his way around the strings, kept his fingers nimble and quick. Jaskier radiated talent, but what was music without his muse?

Jaskier watched the fire flicker in front of him, the soft outline of Geralt’s sleeping form on the other side just barely visible in the night. For as bright as the fire shined, it couldn’t reach the witcher, not when the man had placed himself far from the source of heat, and especially since the armor he insisted on sleeping in camouflaged with the darkness. Jaskier gave a soft sigh, shaking his head lightly.

These kinds of nights were so dreadfully boring. The nights where he couldn’t sleep, enough to the point that, _somehow_ , Geralt - the man who never fucking slept - managed to succumb to blessed rest before him. Now he had no one to talk to, to shoot the shit with. Not that Geralt really offered that in the first place, but it was the principle of the situation that really mattered.

Jaskier closed his eyes, exhaling quietly through his nose. He wasn’t an arse, though. Just because he couldn’t sleep, it didn’t mean he was going to be bitter and cause a ruckus, effectively waking up his companion, who, quite frankly, desperately needed his rest because only the Gods knew when Geralt would finally get the peace he deserved. He leaned his head against the tree behind him, ears tuning into the forest sounds. Maybe the chatter of the nightlife and earth would lull him into slumber.

Distantly, he heard a fox slinking around, leaves barely crunching underneath soft paws. The fox only seemed to be getting further, however, likely avoiding their campsite. Raccoons scurried up tree trunks. Jaskier let himself grin, hearing a few coyotes howl in the distance. Now he knew what the raccoons were hiding from. Jaskier didn’t let himself feel fear, though. The coyotes mostly likely wanted to keep their distance from the fire Geralt had started, just like the foxes.

Jaskier breathed deeply, startling when a familiar sound reached his ears. A rumbling sound, deep, like a kind of gurgling noise. A few slapping sounds punctuated the constant blooping and glugging. Jaskier’s eyes shot open.

 _A river_ , he thought, suddenly straightening against the tree. His head snapped in the direction of the noise, mesmerized. He and Geralt hadn’t needed to fill their waterskins - at least, not yet - so they hadn’t searched for a body of water nearby. Geralt likely heard it, but never mentioned it to Jaskier, who would have never heard it amongst their own sounds as they set up camp.

 _Gods, this is such a bad idea_ , he groaned to himself, shooting a wary look at Geralt. The man was practically in a coma at this point. Surely, he wouldn’t notice if Jaskier was gone for a little bit... _would he?_

Jaskier shook his head. No. Definitely not. Besides, even if he did head off in the direction of the water, Geralt had no reason to come looking for him. He was sure the witcher had been planning on ditching him at the next town anyway. The thing keeping him from running to the river, however, was the presence of monsters. Jaskier doubted there were any nearby. Geralt would have mentioned it, but he hadn’t. So…

Jaskier stood slowly, carefully, grabbing his lute from beside him and strapping it to his back. He truly did not want to wake his companion. He just wanted to _sleep_. By the Gods, Jaskier was also exhausted to his core. Hours of walking in the sweltering sun and chilly nights had taken a toll on his legs, his feet, and his energy. He needed to rest if he wanted any hope of keeping up with Roach and Geralt tomorrow. Jaskier eyed Geralt as he crept out of the clearing, but the other man didn’t even twitch.

Roach, on the other hand, opened her eyes and lifted her head slightly, staring back at him. A flicker of anxiety sparked in Jaskier’s chest and he raised a finger to his lips as if to shush her while he backed out of the clearing. Roach flicked an ear in response, almost as if to say, _“Stupid bard, where are you going?”_ , but she eventually laid her head back down. Her eyes didn’t close, and the fear of waking Geralt didn’t fade until he was away from the campsite.

Jaskier closed his eyes briefly and let out a small sigh of relief before turning around and heading in the direction of the river. He hoped there would be a boulder or a decently-sized rock to sit on. He’d really hate to dirty his doublet more than it already was. He quite liked this one, too. The forest felt empty to him, despite the sounds, but more than once, he caught sight of a small dark figure darting around him. He wasn’t afraid - it was hard to be scared of creatures running _away_ from him - but he couldn’t help the paranoia that one of those darting figures would be running _towards_ him rather than away. Jaskier took in a steadying breath.

“Relax, Jaskier,” he murmured to himself. “You know the way back to the campsite. A monster chases you, you run back to Geralt. Easy, simple, you’ve done it before.”

Turns out, he didn’t need to worry. The river finally came into view, the water glistening a light blue hue under the moonlight. A small smile graced his face at the sight, and he felt the tension leave his shoulders. Off to the side, a sizable rock sat at the edge of the riverbed, a perfect position for Jaskier to climb up and stare off at the gently rushing water. Jaskier made his way onto the rock, crossing his legs in front of him as he gazed absentmindedly at the water lapping at the river’s edge. Jaskier hummed softly to himself for a few moments before deciding to retrieve his lute.

He strummed the strings lightly, reveling in the beautiful sound his beloved instrument made. He let the noise rush through his ears, then started to pluck at the strings with a purpose, a distinct melody beginning to form. It wasn’t a jig - he definitely didn’t have the energy to create something containing that much excitement - and, instead, a soft lullaby echoed in the night. A fleeting thought crossed his mind to make this moment into an actual song, a break from all the adventures he’d taken to writing lately, but that thought left his mind as quickly as it came. There was no describing this moment of peace. Jaskier let the feeling of serenity wash over him, and he took a minute to truly embrace his surroundings.

“Home,” he whispered to himself as he dragged his heavy eyes across the river’s surface. He was so, so tired, but no matter how hard he’d tried, sleep evaded him like a breath he could never quite catch. He just wanted to rest. Was that so hard? Apparently, yes, it was.

Jaskier huffed, closing his eyes and allowing himself to play the same few soft notes over and over again, letting it become more instinctual than conscious. Not having to think about his actions but continuing in his motions soothed him, didn’t require any effort or logic. For a moment, even if just for a _minute_ , he could just... _be_. He could just be Jaskier, could just be Julian, could just be Dandelion. He could just be whoever he was, whoever he wanted to be. Hell, he could be nothing, no one at all. And that was okay. Because the river didn’t judge, didn’t mock his lute playing or humming, didn’t think his singing to be “like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling.”

That remark had hurt at the same time that it hadn’t. Being sleep-deprived often gave a similar, albeit much less potent, effect as being drunk. It was as the old saying went: “A drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts.” So, Jaskier hadn’t taken as much offense to the insult as he probably should have because he understood that Geralt was tired, cranky, and annoyed. However, the fact that Geralt still thought it, despite having the presence of mind not to voice it out loud before then, still stung.

Jaskier stopped his humming, a resigned sigh escaping his lips. He hated thinking about the djinn incident. He’d really thought he was making some headway in his and Geralt’s friendship, because that’s what it was, wasn’t it? Even if the other man didn’t agree to it? A friendship. A really, really _good_ friendship, because they’d yelled at each other, argued, and fought, but at the end of the day, Geralt hadn’t ditched him by the riverside and brought him from town to town in his search for a healer. That must mean that Geralt possessed a _modicum_ of concern for Jaskier’s well-being, right? He’d also yelled at Filavandrel’s elves when they tried to beat on Jaskier, choosing to direct their fury at him instead. There must be some kind of friendship that Geralt wasn’t admitting to. Jaskier wasn’t _that_ imaginative... _right?_

He placed his lute to the side, shifting closer to the rock’s ledge. Reaching down, Jaskier removed his socks and boots and set them next to his lute, dipping his toes in the water. A shiver ran up his spine. By Gods, it was _freezing_. But Jaskier didn’t let the chill deter him. He stubbornly picked up his lute again and began strumming. If he couldn’t fall asleep, then he was at least going to have a good night.

He hummed a new, gentle tune to the river but continued with the same notes as before now that he’d trained his fingers to play them almost autonomously. Before he could stop himself, Jaskier opened his mouth and softly sang,

 _“River, ebbing and flowing,_ _  
__Soft and gentle, is she._ _  
__Be calm, my dear, I’m hoping,_ _  
__Together, we soon shall be._

 _“River, hold me close,_ _  
__Wash away my worry._  
 _The one I love the most,_ _  
River, deem me worthy.”_

Jaskier stopped his singing and let out a frustrated sigh, dropping his hand from the lute’s strings once more. He shook his head, annoyed. That song didn’t fit the river at all. Crude, bland, and monotonous. It didn’t serve the river nearly enough justice, but how could he phrase the love he felt for the water in words that people could understand? Normally, Jaskier had no problem singing about adventures or heartbreak or love. The river, though, didn’t fit an adventure or heartbreak, and the only “love” Jaskier really sang about was of the sexual variety. There was nothing _sexual_ to the river. It was so much...simpler yet _complex_ than that.

How could he describe the only constant in his life? The one thing that remained by his side since he was a child? How could he describe the call of the river that rang in his ears like a siren’s song every time he heard it? The answer was simple: _he couldn’t_.

Jaskier set aside his lute and kicked his feet lightly in the water, which had warmed considerably once he became accustomed to the chill. He leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees as he stared down at the rippling water. His reflection stared back at him. The glimmering moonlight cast just enough visibility to see the slight difference of color underneath his eyes. Gods, he was so tired. Tomorrow was going to be hell, and he knew it. It would only be by the grace of the Heavens above that he doesn’t collapse on the Path. Geralt would kill him.

Jaskier raised his eyes, relaxing at the sight of fluent movement of the river rushing down to wherever the direction may take it. He wondered if there was a waterfall nearby, one that perhaps he and Geralt could bathe in. Gods knew they needed it. He shook that thought from his head.

 _Stop talking, Jaskier. Just listen. Let the river calm you. Once you feel relaxed enough, you can head back to the campsite and grab the couple hours left of the night._ He groaned in dismay. All he wanted was a good night’s rest. Was this how Geralt felt when he went searching for the djinn? He was starting to understand the desperate measures.

Jaskier closed his eyes and swayed himself gently, rocking himself in a poor imitation of a mother and child. The sound of the running water muted everything else around him, a better song than one he could ever compose. Yes, this was it. This was what peace was.

**_“Jaskier…”_ **

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered open and flicked around, his feet stilling in the water.

“What the hell?” he murmured when he didn’t see anyone around him, not even Geralt. He furrowed his eyebrows. It couldn’t have been Geralt anyway. The voice was tender and benevolent, a sweet-tempered and soothing tone. Definitely _not_ Geralt.

Jaskier should probably be freaking out right now. Some unknown, unseen entity _knew his name_ , but running away felt like the last thing he wanted to do. The voice sounded so...familiar, despite him never heard it before. He felt _comforted_.

Jaskier stayed quiet for a few minutes, ears searching for the voice again, but all he could hear was the river and the rustling of leaves. Had he imagined it? Surely not. He couldn’t have. Jaskier huffed. Maybe he was more tired than he thought. He closed his eyes again and started back up kicking his feet.

 _Sleep,_ he thought, _that’s all I need. Just some rest. Please, Gods, just let me sleep…_

“Jaskier?!”

Jaskier’s eyes snapped open again. That voice was much more real this time. Most certainly not the lulling voice he thought he heard before. No, this one sounded like gravel, a deep growl.

_Fuck. Geralt._

Jaskier quickly turned his head, just in time to see Geralt break through the treeline, amber eyes searching and muscles tense, like he’d been preparing for a fight. At the sight of Jaskier sitting on the rock, completely unharmed and calm, Geralt’s tense shoulders visibly relaxed, though he still seemed wound up. With the slightest bit of hesitation, Geralt stalked his way over towards Jaskier, standing beside the rock and making no move to climb up beside the bard.

A moment of silence passed before Geralt finally asked, “What are you doing out here?”

Jaskier sighed. “Couldn’t sleep. Came to get some fresh air.” He shot Geralt the best smile he could manage, but he really couldn’t muster up the energy for a decent one. “What are _you_ doing up? You looked rather deep in your sleep. On your fortieth dream, perhaps?”

Geralt responded with one of his signature hums, seemingly expressionless, but Jaskier could read between the lines. The bags beneath Geralt’s eyes had disappeared considerably. There was still a hint of grey underneath those amber eyes, but he looked _much_ better than before. His face gained a bit of color, too, something Geralt really couldn’t afford to lose with his naturally pale skin.

Envy reared up in Jaskier’s chest, closely followed by guilt. How he wished he could be as well-rested as Geralt right now, but he also felt horrible for thinking that way. Geralt didn’t often get that kind of rest. Jaskier should be happy that his companion had slept more than five minutes for the first time in months, not _jealous._

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Geralt grumbled, staring down at the river and crossing his arms.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “Well, why would I? You seemed to be getting plenty of rest. No point in _both_ of us being sleep-deprived.” Wow, that came out much more bitter than he’d expected. The slight downward tilt of Geralt’s lips communicated that just as well.

Jaskier huffed. “Sorry. That sounded really aggressive. I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

Geralt hummed again, waving off the apology. “You’re tired,” was the best consolation Geralt would give. Jaskier would take it.

The bard scoffed. “‘Tired’ is a bit of an understatement there, Geralt. _Exhausted_ is more like it. Weary, drained, fatigued...these are all great words to describe me at the moment. ‘Tired’ was so two days ago.”

“See you still have enough energy to complain,” Geralt sniped back, but Jaskier could hear the amusement in his tone.

With a good-natured roll of his eyes, Jaskier replied, “Really, now, I thought I’d be able to garner _some_ sympathy from my _very best friend_ in the whole wide world, but I guess not-”

“We’re not friends.”

“-and there he goes again. Crushing my feelings like those words don’t hurt my poor heart every time he says them. Honestly, Geralt, I’m quite offended that you would even _say something_ like that. After all these years, you would think-”

**_“Jaskier...”_ **

The bard stopped his rant abruptly, mouth clamping shut, but his attention diverted back to the river. A wave of calm rushed over him, practically drowning him in tranquility. There was that voice again. That soothing, soft, _motherly_ …

“Jaskier?”

The bard’s eyes snapped over to his left, where Geralt had turned his head and was staring at him with narrowed, quizzical eyes. He could see the question dancing in Geralt’s expression, and Jaskier hoped he didn’t ask. He wasn’t sure how to answer.

“What’s wrong?” And of course he fucking asked, because why wouldn’t he?

“Uh, nothing. I…” Jaskier turned back to the river, staring intently into moonlit waves. Was there something under the water? A monster? Had Geralt really not heard that voice?

“You...what?”

“Did you…? Did you really not _hear that?”_

The frown deepened. “Hear what?”

“That...that voice. A woman?”

The response he got back was an incredulous stare.

Frustrated, Jaskier palmed at his heavy eyelids and growled, “How did you not _hear_ that? She was clear as day, Geralt! She fucking said my _name_!”

“Jaskier.”

The bard’s attention whipped to the witcher beside him. For a moment, he doubted if Geralt had been the one to speak, sure that his companion was incapable of talking in such a delicate tone. Jaskier took in the softened amber eyes, concern thinly veiled.

“We should head back to camp,” Geralt continued, eyeing Jaskier apprehensively, “and try to sleep while you can.”

Jaskier groaned, irritated. “Geralt…”

 _"Try._ "

The bard huffed, but he didn’t argue. Casting one last observant look over the river, Jaskier lifted his feet out of the water, donned his socks and boots, and followed Geralt back to the campsite. The walk was silent, and Jaskier kept his gaze focused on the dirt, but he could still feel the quick glances Geralt sent his way. On any other night, his heart would have warmed at the clear display of worry Geralt decided to show, but he found himself too exhausted and, frankly, confused, to even think about it.

Geralt gestured to Jaskier’s bedroll, shooting the bard a pointed glance. Jaskier withheld a sigh and laid himself down, but he turned his back to where Geralt decided to situate himself against a tree, likely to meditate while Jaskier slept. He rested his head on top of his curled arm as a pillow, blinking sluggishly into the dark forest. The crackling of the fire permeated the quiet of the clearing, but Jaskier paid no mind.

He closed his eyes, sending up a desperate wish that he could finally fall asleep. That’s all he wanted, and Melitele knew that he would go find himself his own djinn if he didn’t sleep tonight. After a few long moments, Jaskier felt irritation building up in his chest. He was _tired_. Why couldn’t he just fall asleep? He was half-tempted to ask Geralt to choke him into unconsciousness - Melitele knew the man would probably be eager to fulfill the request - but before he could, a voice breezed into the clearing and into Jaskier’s ears.

 **_“Rest, my child_** **,”** the soft lullaby whispered. A flicker of alarm built up in Jaskier’s chest, yet he found his muscles relaxing, melting into his bedroll. His body felt light, airy, and he could feel sleep finally welcoming him. Unable to fight the temptation, Jaskier exhaled deeply. The last thing he heard was the lullaby singing lovingly,

**_“Sweet dreams, beautiful Dandelion.”_ **

Then, Jaskier knew no more.

~~~~~~~

Geralt’s head snapped up when he heard Jaskier’s heart rate pick up from where the younger man had laid himself down once more. He started to move, quick to arrive at Jaskier’s side and determine what was wrong. However, he needn’t had worried, not when a soft but audible exhale escaped Jaskier’s mouth, probably the deepest and most relaxed the bard had sounded all night. His companion's breath eventually evened out, taking full inhales. He was finally asleep.

Geralt settled back down in his spot, crossing his legs once more and resting his hands on his knees. He straightened his back against the tree behind him, the perfect position for meditation, but he didn't close his eyes. Instead, he stared at Jaskier's still form, a contemplative frown on his face.

He wasn't quite sure what to think. Jaskier had been so adamant back at the river, entirely certain he'd heard a woman's voice call his name. That was ridiculous, though. If that had happened, Geralt would have most definitely heard it. His hearing was far more advanced than Jaskier's, so it couldn't be possible that the woman's voice passed by him. He'd also managed to snag his own few hours of sleep, and he felt more than well-rested. He would have heard her.

Geralt chalked up the bard's ramblings to sleep deprivation. It had to be. Geralt had no doubt that Jaskier was tired. He noticed his companion lagging behind further than usual lately the past couple of days. It was one of the main reasons he'd decided to camp for the night rather than pushing through like usual. The next town was still a couple days away, but Geralt figured it was okay to indulge in one night of rest if it meant the bard could regain at least some of his lost energy.

As it turns out, the stop benefited him more than it did Jaskier.

Geralt sighed deeply through his nose. He should be more concerned than he currently felt about Jaskier hearing a woman calling him. It could have been a number of things - a siren, for one - but he hadn't smelled a monster nearby, nor had he heard one, and his medallion had yet to hum to indicate any presence of magic. So the likelihood of Jaskier actually having heard something was slim to none. Perhaps it had just been an auditory hallucination, a common symptom of sleep deprivation.

A soft hum escaped him. His logic was completely reasonable. There was no sign of any woman speaking...but Jaskier had seemed so _sure_. Geralt knew his companion was prone to exaggeration, but Jaskier looked far too exhausted to even think about conjuring something like that up. Sure, the bard had found enough strength to complain, but even Geralt could see through that facade. Jaskier truly, wholeheartedly believed someone called out to him. 

Geralt closed his eyes, slowing his breathing as he lowered himself into a meditative state. If Jaskier thought he heard something, who was Geralt to say he hadn't? The only thing Geralt could do was to keep a better ear out and pay just a bit more attention to his surroundings. And if it meant it would keep Jaskier safe, then that's what he would do.


	2. Call To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been four months since the last time he heard the voice that soothed him to sleep. When Geralt nearly gets killed during a kikimora fight, Jaskier starts to learn that there may be more to this voice than he originally believed.
> 
> Or maybe he was losing his fucking marbles.

_"And it's a long way forward, so trust in me_   
_I'll give them shelter, like you've done for me_   
_And I know, I'm not alone, you'll be watching over us_   
_Until you're gone."_

~ _Shelter_ , Porter Robinson, Madeon

xxxxxxx

Jaskier hummed as he watched Geralt fight off a kikimora hiding in a pond. They had recently traveled to a town where they'd immediately been asked to _"Please, please, please, help get rid of the monster in our water."_ Geralt, the foolish bleeding heart, took off without a word in the direction the village alderman had pointed them to, leaving Jaskier to quickly tell the older man that they would discuss payment upon their return and dart after the damned witcher.

Wincing at a particularly vicious swipe from the kikimora, Jaskier resisted the urge to call out to Geralt as the man was sent flying backward and landing roughly on the shore. He had learned his lesson a long time ago that, as much as he hated it, it was best to stay quiet and out of the way during Geralt's fights. Calling out or racing onto the battlefield only served to distract his friend and, more often than not, resulted in one or both of them getting injured. Eventually, they'd compromised. Jaskier would only interfere with a fight if Geralt sincerely needed help. Only one of them was even remotely happy about this agreement, and it certainly wasn't the one doing the actual fighting.

He couldn't help but worry, though, even if he had full confidence in Geralt's ability to slay any monster that came their way. Despite the potions his witcher consumed beforehand, the kikimora seemed to be gaining the upper hand. Jaskier wasn't sure when he should draw the line. He knew that if he threw himself in the line of attack, Geralt would stop fighting. While the witcher may act like Jaskier was a complete bother, Geralt would lay down his life to protect the bard. Jaskier was not above using that knowledge to his advantage. If he had to risk his life to force Geralt to retreat and try again at killing the monster at a later time, then so be it.

He watched as Geralt lunged at the kikimora once more, slicing at the creature's legs. More than once, Jaskier witnessed his friend be nearly drowned by the monster, held down by one of the many limbs it possessed. If it happened again and Geralt managed to come back up - he would always come back up, he had to - Jaskier had decided that would be when he would force the stubborn witcher to retreat.

With halted breath, Jaskier focused in on the battle, absorbing in every detail for his upcoming ballad, only to be shocked out of his thoughts by a vicious roar...one that sounded eerily similar to the kikimora Geralt was fighting. Jaskier's mouth went dry. The roar sounded like the kikimora Geralt was fighting, except it hadn't come from that exact beast itself.

Jaskier's eyes widened in horror as another kikimora, one about the same size as the one Geralt found himself facing, came bounding out of the forest. The village said _nothing_ about there being _two_ kikimoras.

He distantly heard a frustrated "Fuck!" escaping Geralt's mouth, and Jaskier couldn't help but think it summed up the situation quite nicely. This was definitely a "Fuck!" moment if Jaskier had anything to say about it, and he _definitely_ had a few words to say to the village alderman when they returned. If there was anything Jaskier hated more than people insulting Geralt, it was them being negligent or cruel enough to mislead him into an early grave.

Jaskier's heart leapt to his throat as he watched Geralt struggle to keep up with both monsters, ultimately failing to block quite a few swipes aimed at him. Geralt was _losing_ this fight, and Jaskier would be damned if he lost his witcher because of some bigoted arse. He wanted to run and pull Geralt away, but while he may have been able to escape with a few wounds here and there from the first kikimora, there was certainly no way he would live if he ran in front of _both_ of them. Not to mention that even if he did live, Geralt would be the one to kill him afterward.

No, all he could do was sit here and watch in utter desperation as his friend was tossed around and nearly drowned by these two merciless creatures. He could feel his eyes burning, tears pooling at the edges. His heartbeat rapidly, and his shaking hands curled around his lute. This couldn't be the death of Geralt. There had to be _something_ he could do.

**_"Jaskier..."_ **

Jaskier froze. No way. No way in _hell_. He hadn't heard that voice in _months._ But he couldn't deny it. It sounded like the same soft, melodic, sweet voice that spoke to him all that time ago along the river. The same voice he thought he'd heard during a momentary lapse of sanity. He couldn't possibly be losing his marbles now. This was quite literally the worst time ever.

**_"My sweet Dandelion, I am not here to harm you..."_ **

"Who...Who are you?" Jaskier whispered, keeping his eyes locked on Geralt. His vision tracked as Geralt was flung into a tree, but his heart didn't skip a beat out of fear like it normally would. Instead, his heart calmed, and his hands stilled. He felt...relaxed, at peace. Why the fuck was he okay with Geralt getting killed?

A soft twinkling echoed in his ear, like tiny bells or... _clinking seashells_. **_"Sweet flower, it is not that you are accepting of the witcher's fate, but, rather, you know what you must do."_ **

"I...do?" Jaskier asked, narrowing his eyes. By Melitele, he must look like psychotic talking to himself.

**_"You do. You know what the kikimoras have planned for your dear friend."_ **

Jaskier scoffed, shaking his head. "No, I don't! I-" He paused, his gaze suddenly locking on a spot in the woods. Just barely, he could see the dark outlines of two silhouettes between the trees. His eyes locked on Geralt once more, and he finally saw it. The two kikimoras he was facing were herding him towards the treeline...right into the grasps of the creatures in the forest.

"They're cornering him," he whispered, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. He needed to warn Geralt _now_.

 **_"Indeed,"_ ** the voice hummed, **_"and the witcher has just the right technique to save himself."_ **

"What could that possibly be?" Jaskier snapped, "He's completely outnumbered."

 **_"Calm yourself, my child,"_ ** the woman's voice soothed. Jaskier felt his muscles melt from their tense position once more, a wave of peace washing over him. The voice continued, **_"Where are you currently?"_ **

Jaskier furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "The forest."

**_"Yes. What are forests made up of?"_ **

"Trees?"

**_"Trees are weak to...?"_ **

Jaskier straightened up, and he could practically feel himself glowing with anticipation. "Fire...Igni!"

**_"Very good, my lovely flower. Now, go save your witcher."_ **

"Thank you," Jaskier murmured as he strapped his lute to his back, emphasizing as much gratitude as he feasibly could.

The voice laughed at him, the sound of clinking seashells filling his ears once more. **_"No, my darling Jaskier, this was all you."_ **

He could feel the voice leave him, but it parted from him with an overwhelming atmosphere of tranquility and a clear mind. His body was steady, and he knew what he had to do.

By the grace of the gods above, one of the kikimoras slammed into Geralt, sending the witcher flying in Jaskier's direction. Without much thought, Jaskier raced forward and grabbed the back of Geralt's armor, attempting to haul the witcher with him.

"Jaskier!" Geralt yelled, pitch-black eyes glaring at him, "What the fuck are you doing?!"

"Saving your life, you arse! Just pull back for a moment!" Jaskier snapped in response, returning with a glare of his own.

"You're going to get both of us killed!"

"Only if you don't listen to me, so get your arse up and _follow me!"_ Jaskier glanced up to see the kikimoras advancing in their direction, but he didn't feel fear. Somehow, for some unknown reason, he felt inexplicably safe.

Casting an angry but bewildered expression, Geralt let out a deep growl and followed Jaskier, the two of them running in the opposite direction of where the two kikimoras hiding in the woods were, careful to avoid falling into the pond.

"What is so damn important, Jaskier?!" Geralt hissed, casting a quick yet effective Aard when the kikimoras got a bit too close.

"There are two more kikimoras in the forest, behind us. The two you were fighting were pushing you towards them."

 _"What?"_ Geralt turned around, and Jaskier could see his eyes narrow and his jaw tense when he finally acknowledged what would have been his inevitable death. A low growl admitted from his throat.

The two of them rounded a tree, hiding behind as Jaskier spewed out his plan. "You need to get them into the woods, round them up into a tight area. We're in the woods, Geralt. Just cast Igni, light the trees on fire, and burn the bastards to ashes."

For a moment, Geralt stared at him, and Jaskier could admit that those blackened irises made the gaze just the slightest bit unsettling.

"Uh, Geralt? As much as I would love to entertain this impromptu staring contest, we're kind of in the middle of a life or death situation, so if you could _please_..."

His words seemingly snapped the witcher out of his reverie. Sending one last wary and confused look to the bard, Geralt sprinted back into the clearing and caught the kikimoras' attention. Jaskier watched as Geralt led the kikimoras into the woods before shifting his gaze over to the left, where he saw the other two already in the forest start to make their way in Geralt's direction.

Jaskier, somehow still holding onto his air of calm, waited with bated breath as Geralt and the kikimoras disappeared from view. For a moment, he could only hear the kikimoras and he wondered if Geralt was safe. Then, the forest fell silent.

Jaskier's hands didn't shake, his heart didn't race, and his eyes didn't tear up, but he still felt a flicker of worry burning in the pit of his stomach as he waited and waited and waited. He kept his vision locked on the patch of trees Geralt had disappeared through, focusing to catch even a glimpse of white hair.

Above the treetops, a burst of fire broke through the canopy, and an intense sense of relief fell over him as Geralt came bounding through the dense thicket, amber starting to peer through the inky blackness of his potion-induced gaze. Jaskier let out a deep sigh and moved to greet his friend halfway.

"Are they all dead?" he asked once he'd approached Geralt by the pond’s bed.

Geralt hummed, giving a curt nod. "Don't have heads as proof, but it'll do."

"I'll get the alderman to pay us anyway," Jaskier reassured, rolling his eyes at the thought of facing the bastard after such an event.

Geralt hummed again, glaring in the direction of the fire he started.

"Do you think it'll take down most of the forest?" Jaskier asked quietly, able to see the flicker of flames, though not as much as Geralt's enhanced eyes.

"Doubt it," Geralt responded, "Cast it in a mostly bare spot. Not as many trees to catch fire and spread out enough not to light the main areas."

Jaskier nodded, relieved. "Good. That's good." With that, Jaskier turned, ready to head back to the village, when he felt Geralt's gloved hand wrap around his forearm. Turning back, he met Geralt's burning stare.

"How did you know?"

"How did I know what?" Jaskier asked, eyeing Geralt's unwavering grip.

Geralt paid no mind. "How did you know about the other kikimoras?"

Jaskier swallowed thickly and averted his eyes. "Oh, uh, well..."

"Jaskier." Geralt growled, voice brooking no room for argument.

Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Jaskier answered, "Do you remember about four months ago when we were at that river? When I couldn't sleep?"

Geralt furrowed his eyebrows in thought. "The voice?"

With a nod but still refusing to look his friend in the eyes, Jaskier continued, "I heard her again. Except she talked a lot more this time. She didn't exactly tellme, but...opened my eyes, I guess? She talked me through seeing the kikimoras and how to kill them easily."

Geralt didn't respond for a while. His eyes lingered on Jaskier's as if searching for any semblance of a lie or maybe even insanity. After a few moments, he replied, "This... _voice_. It speaks to you often?"

Jaskier shook his head. "I haven't heard it since the night by the river."

"Hm." Geralt crossed his arms. "Yennefer could probably get rid of it."

At that, Jaskier's head shot up and he shot the witcher an incredulous look. Yennefer? Gods, no! Not only did Jaskier desperately not want to get rid of the voice, but he especially didn't wish to see that dreaded witch any sooner than he had to. Geralt may be infatuated with the horrid mage, but Jaskier could truly do without her. "What? No!"

"No?" Geralt repeated, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Think about it, Geralt," Jaskier huffed in exasperation, "That voice just saved our arses. It's done nothing but help us so far!"

"It's only helped us _once_ , Jaskier," Geralt deadpanned, fixing the bard with an unamused stare.

"It...actually helped me go to sleep that night," Jaskier confessed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, "I don't think I could've without it."

Geralt hummed, deciding to look over at where the fire seemed to be dying down, considering Jaskier no longer saw the bright orange flames like he'd been able to before. "You trust this voice you hear?"

"I guess so?" Jaskier exhaled deeply. "When it spoke to me, I felt...calm. I wasn't afraid or nervous or anxious. I was just _calm_ , and I felt safer than I probably should've." With a half-hearted shrug, Jaskier said, "If I felt that comfortable with it, maybe it isn't that bad?"

Geralt turned back to him, an apprehensive look in his eyes. "Many monsters trick you into a false sense of security."

"I don't think this is a monster, Geralt," Jaskier pressed gently, "I truly think it's something good."

He held Geralt's gaze for a few seconds later before the witcher finally let out a short sigh. "Fine," Geralt growled, turning to walk in the direction of Roach, "We won't get rid of it."

"Good," Jaskier mumbled, picking up his pace to keep up with Geralt.

" _B_ _ut_ ," Geralt started, leveling Jaskier with a serious, side-eyed glare, "if at any point that voice leads us astray, we get rid of it."

For some reason, those words sent a chill down Jaskier's spine. He couldn't quite comprehend it, but the thought of living without the voice left a void in his heart, despite the fact he managed four months with no word from it. Still, he saw the underlying concern in Geralt's eyes - concern the witcher would never admit to - and he nodded. 

"Okay."

Geralt nodded, seemingly satisfied, and they traveled the rest of the way in silence. As they neared the treeline to find Roach, Jaskier found himself casting one last look at the pond. A gentle breeze sifted through his hair, almost like fingers scraping lightly against his scalp. He felt the slightest calming of his heart at the feeling, and a soft smile graced his features. With a deep breath, taking in the comforting and earthly scent of the water, Jaskier turned his back to the pond and followed after Geralt.

 _Until we meet again, Voice,_ Jaskier thought.


	3. Can You Hold Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been three months since Geralt sent him away on the mountain. The voice in his head hadn't gone away, and even though it helped him, he was still lonely. Jaskier didn't see a way out...until he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: suicidal thoughts/actions, suicide attempt, canon-typical swearing, depressive thoughts, self-esteem issues, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced child neglect**
> 
> Please be safe. Do not read this if any of the above warnings trigger you. Your mental health is worth more than reading a story.

_"Put your arms around me._ _  
__Let your love surround me._ _  
__I am lost, I am lost._ _  
__If I ain't got you here,_ _  
__If I ain't got you, I ain't got nothing at all."_

~ _Can You Hold Me?_ \- NF ft. Britt Nicole

xxxxxxx

Winter had never been kind to Jaskier, but this...this was a whole new level of cruelty.

With a frustrated growl, Jaskier swept off the pack of snow that had just landed on his head and shoulders when a particularly rough gust of wind blew it off a branch above him. If he wasn't cold before, he certainly was now, and he had no idea how far the next town was. He didn't even know if he strayed from the path yet. Snow covered the entirety of the forest ground, and Jaskier could hardly tell where he stood anymore. 

He thought about taking out his lute, but he quickly crushed that feeling down. Playing the lute no longer appealed to him. Not since...

Jaskier shook his head, letting out an exasperated sigh. He really needed to stop thinking about the damned witcher. It'd been three months since the mountain. Geralt made his feelings very clear. If Geralt wanted nothing to do with him, well, then he wanted nothing to do with Geralt. Simple as that. Jaskier survived eighteen years before he met the witcher in godsforsaken Posada. He could get by the rest of his life without any ridiculous adventures. He could have his _own_ adventures. 

Jaskier bit back a choked sob. No, he couldn't. He shook his head at himself again. Who was he kidding? He was so damn angry at Geralt, but he still felt for the other man. Jaskier honestly thought they'd gotten somewhere. Over the years, Geralt had shown genuine concern for the bard. He'd had to. There was no other way to explain why Geralt took time out of his life to save Jaskier from monsters, bandits, and scorned lovers. He'd fed the bard, kept him warm during the coldest nights, and, though rare, even joked with him. There had to have been something, right?

**_"My darling, you are thinking far too loudly for your own sake."_ **

Almost immediately, the tension fled Jaskier's muscles, and an internal warmth surged within him. He sighed in contentment. The Voice. He'd never really given the voice a name, but she had been speaking to him much more over the years. She never truly stayed, yet she was always there when he and Geralt needed her. Whether it be during an intense monster fight or another seemingly restless night for Jaskier, The Voice always soothed him and guided him to safety.

"Well, now," Jaskier started, clearing his throat after so long of disuse, "I think you and I both know I've always been fairly loud."

The clinking of seashells filled his ears. 

"Are you _laughing_ at me? I'll have you know, I'm having quite the difficult time here," Jaskier scoffed, only mock offended.

**_"Yes, of course. My apologies,"_ ** The Voice replied, amusement in her tone. 

For a few moments, Jaskier walked in silence, letting the residual calm The Voice had left him with wash away any unpleasant thoughts. He needed to focus. Night was approaching quickly, and it would only grow colder. He could always set up camp and brandish a blazing fire, but he doubted a simple fire and no walls would protect him from what appeared to be an approaching blizzard.

**_"You are close, little flower. The next town is not far from you."_ **

At that, Jaskier brightened, straightening his back eagerly. "Really? How far?"

The Voice hummed softly, the sound of an ocean breeze entering one of his ears and escaping through the other. **_"At this pace, perhaps a couple of hours."_ **

"Bless Melitele," Jaskier murmured. With that encouraging estimate, Jaskier picked up his pace, elongating his strides in the hopes of arriving at the town faster. He pulled the edges of his thick cloak closer to him and pulled up the hood, something he probably should have done before the snow mistook him for the ground.

A quiet sigh fell from his lips. "Do you think he meant it?"

The Voice didn't need to ask who he was talking about. **_"I could never speak for another."_ **

"That's not what I asked," Jaskier grumbled, crossing his arms like a petulant child.

**_"My sweet Jaskier, you know I adore you so, but there are questions that even I cannot answer for you. Some things you must find on your own."_ **

"I don't want to see him again," Jaskier snapped back, a hysterical laugh in the undertones of his voice. 

**_"Then you do not have to. Even so, Destiny is a powerful force-"_ **

"Fuck destiny!" Jaskier yelled, grasping at his biceps tightly in anger. "Everyone says it! Destiny this, and destiny that! Look at where destiny's fucking gotten me now! Broken-hearted, tossed aside, and so frighteningly _alone_..." Jaskier's voice cracked, and he had to clench his eyes tightly to prevent tears from falling.

**_"You are not alone,"_ ** The Voice whispered gently, **_"I have always been beside you, even when you could not feel my presence."_ **

Jaskier let out a cynical laugh. "I know you have, and I thank you for it. You have helped me so much over the years, but the fact of the matter is, you're not _actually_ here. You're some kind of disembodied voice living in my head, one Geralt never _really_ believed in. Let's face it, I'm so, so, so alone."

The Voice didn't respond, and Jaskier merely shook his head in dismay. Shifting his gaze to look straight ahead of him, Jaskier focused on nothing more than putting one foot in front of the other. He couldn't bring himself to think about anything else much longer. The calm that once encompassed him had fled, and all that remained was the bitter chill. 

Taking in a deep breath, Jaskier steeled himself against the harsh wind and trudged his way to the next town. The only thing keeping him company was the set of footprints he left behind.

xxxxxxx

Jaskier let out a long sigh of relief as he finally opened the door to the village's tavern, immediately greeted with the warmth of a blazing fire in the back of the room. Several patrons sat at the tables, drinking and laughing and yelling as they sheltered from the cold. He pulled back his cloak's hood, making his way to the barmaid.

She gave him a polite smile as he situated himself on one of the stools towards the corner. "Dinner and ale?"

Jaskier returned her smile with a weak one of his own. "That would be most appreciated."

She nodded before heading off towards the kitchen. Jaskier breathed in deeply as he surveyed the tavern. He absentmindedly noted there were no white-haired men sitting around, and he didn't know what to make of the tight feeling in his chest at that revelation. Was it relief? Was it disappointment? Fuck Geralt.

Jaskier huffed and shrugged off his cloak when the heat became too much, revealing the lute case sitting on his back. Almost immediately, shouts of "play us a song, bard!" erupted around him. Jaskier jumped in his seat, looking around at all the patrons calling to him. His throat closed up. He hadn't actually sung in a tavern in so long. He barely played to himself anymore. The only reason he still carried the lute was out of respect to Filavandrel. 

He opened his mouth, ready to disappoint the crowd, when the barmaid returned to his spot, placing a tankard of ale in front of him. "I'll waive your pay for a room, dinner, and ale if you entertain them," she bargained.

Jaskier just barely masked his flinch. His coin purse was light enough that he often forgot he had it. It would do him well if he could have a whole night free. Jaskier reached around and placed his lute case on his lap. He opened it and let his fingers run over the engravings, unwanted memories of Geralt protecting him from Filavandrel and Toruviel flooding his mind. 

With a deep sigh, Jaskier lifted his head up and flashed the most dazzling smile he could muster, though it felt so fake and wrong on his face. "Well, I suppose I could do a few," he conceded.

The tavern erupted into a chaotic mess of enthusiastic shouting as Jaskier made his way to the middle of his room, legs trembling slightly for the exertion of his prior trek through the woods. Gods, he was tired, but he needed the money.

As he bowed to the crowd in greeting, his heart began to race. Most of his songs involved Geralt and his adventures. Jaskier knew he wasn't emotionally stable enough to sing anything related to the White Wolf. He'd need to buy himself some time, figure out as many songs as he could that didn't include the man who ripped his heart to shreds three months ago. He settled for a classic.

Clearing his throat, Jaskier gave a sheepish smile and said, "It's been a while since I've played, so I might be a bit rusty. I'm sure I'll get back into the swing of things soon enough, however." He sent a wink to the crowd, who, surprisingly, looked quite understanding.

With that, Jaskier strummed his lute, fingers finding the strings automatically, despite how long it'd been since he'd last played. A boost in confidence welled up in his chest and he opened his mouth.

_"Oh fishmonger, oh fishmonger, Come quell your daughter's hunger..."_

Before long, the tavern walls shook with people stamping their feet, clapping their hands, singing along if they knew the lyrics, and raucous laughter. For a while, Jaskier was able to forget about his worries, songs coming back to him like he'd never failed to remember them, all of which not including the shall-not-be-named witcher.

He concluded with his song _Elusive_ , one he hadn't sung in so many years. To his delight, the crowd ate it up, soaking it in with the same excitement as all of his others. However, as much as he hated to admit it, his legs were growing weaker, and he could feel his posture beginning to slouch. He gave a stiff bow to the audience and said,

"You have all been so lovely tonight! Thank you so much, but I'm afraid this is where my show must end."

Disappointed groans filled the tavern's air, even from the barmaids walking around. Jaskier sent them an apologetic smile as he backed up to his lute case, which was covered with coins. His heart swelled at the sight. This would last him quite a while. Just as he was about to put his lute away, a feminine voice called from the back,

"Wait!"

Jaskier turned around, searching for whoever had caught his attention. His eyes locked on a young brunette sitting on the far left, her hand held up for him to acknowledge.

"Yes?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

She gave him a soft smile. "Perhaps one more song? Something much softer to end the night off?" 

Jaskier opened his mouth to protest, but she quickly continued, "You don't have to perform or dance or anything. Just a soft ballad for an easy night of rest."

Jaskier hesitantly surveyed the room, taking in the slow nods of agreement and low mumbles of affirmation. He took in a deep breath, bringing his lute back up. His body protested, but he figured if he just pulled out a barstool and performed sitting down, perhaps it wouldn't be as bad as he imagined it to.

"I suppose I could do _one_ more," Jaskier conceded, dragging a stool to the front center of the tavern. Applause greeted him as he settled in his seat, enticing a melancholic smile from him. 

"This is a song I've just recently finished. You all will be the first to hear it, so, please, your opinions would be greatly appreciated."

With everyone's eyes on him, Jaskier drew in a shuddering breath before saying, "I call this _'Her Sweet Kiss.'_ "

He gently plucked at his lute's strings, closing his eyes as he sang,

_"The fairer sex they often call it,_ _  
__But her love's as unfair as a crook._ _  
__It steals all my reason,_ _  
__Commits every treason_ _  
__Of logic, with naught but a look."_

Not once did he look at his audience. Nor did he open his eyes in fear that tears may spill down his cheeks. A pressure in his chest made itself known, pushing down on his heart and lungs to the point where he almost felt suffocated. Memories flowed back to him, of Posada, Filavandrel's elves, the djinn incident, the mountain. He'd told himself he wouldn't do this, wouldn't sing about _Geralt of Rivia_ , but how could he not? Twenty-two years. Twenty-two years of his life, given away to a man who never wanted it. 

And it _hurt._

_"I'm weak, my love, and I am wanting."_ Jaskier could feel himself flinch despite his closed eyes as his voice cracked on that line, a bit too much emotion showing through. Jaskier thrived on being open with his emotions, but even that was too much to handle, especially after having his feelings torn to pieces by a man he thought he could trust.

_"The story is this,_ _  
__She'll destroy with her sweet kiss."_

Jaskier strummed the final notes on his lute, giving himself only a second of reprieve before opening his eyes. The crowd stared back at him, slack-jawed and misty-eyed, in greeting. Jaskier shifted in his seat. Well, this certainly wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting.

Jaskier cleared his throat awkwardly. "Right, well, I suppose that would do it for tonight."

As he stood, he distinctly heard someone whisper, "Who hurt you so badly?"

He didn't know who it came from, but he couldn't stop himself from turning around and casting a grim smile to the audience. "The one person I had left in this world."

Jaskier didn't stay to chat any longer. He quickly grabbed his lute case in one hand, careful not to spill the coins inside, and his lute and cloak in the other. He stalked out the door, forgetting about his free dinner and room. Those were the least of his worries, especially when his heart felt like it was being twisted, wrung out like a drenched shirt. 

He gritted his teeth, closing his eyes shut tight as he walked aimlessly, trying to quell the nauseous feeling building in the stomach, his breathing erratic. Fuck, what was he thinking? He should have rejected that last song request. He hadn't even sung the full song to himself yet. How had he thought playing _that_ song to be wise when he hadn't even allowed himself to grieve properly?

He really wished The Voice was here now.

He wished _Geralt_ was here.

Jaskier shook his head, opening his eyes and dismayed to see through tear-blurred vision. No, he wasn't going to think like that. Geralt _left_ him, _abandoned_ him for a mage who didn't care for him. The witcher had snapped at him, blamed him, ripped his heart to shreds. Geralt didn't deserve Jaskier's sorrow. He didn't _earn_ it.

Jaskier growled loudly to himself. He knew what he should be thinking; why couldn't he just _believe_ it? All this pain and suffering, and all for a man who probably hadn't thought about Jaskier for the past three months. Hell, Geralt was probably gallivanting across the Continent, finally relieved that the annoying bard he'd been trying to rid himself of for the past twenty-two years was gone. Jaskier swallowed past the lump in his throat.

A lot of people wanted Jaskier gone.

Jaskier let out a choked sob, the biting winter wind gnawing at him, seemingly bypassing his skin and only freezing his insides. Another cry escaped him. Why must the world continue to hurt him so? What had he done to deserve this? All he wanted was to love, and maybe even be loved. He wasn't picky or pining; he just wanted someone to give him a reason to live.

Jaskier's breath caught in his throat as he looked up from his locked gaze on the snow-covered path. He'd traveled a bit of ways away from the town and come face-to-face with a looming cliff. Just beyond the cliff rested a vast lake, sea, ocean. Jaskier couldn't tell, not when the body of water expanded far beyond what his eyes could see.

He sighed softly, gathering the coins in his lute case and placing them in his coin purse, which he left beside the case, making room to lay down his lute and shield it from the bitter cold. Leaving the lute case and coin purse propped up against a nearby tree, Jaskier stepped forward, toeing the edge of the cliff. With a deep inhale, he wrapped his cloak around him and knelt down in the snow. Immediately, his knees became soaked and started to go numb from the cold, but Jaskier couldn't bring himself to care.

Gods, it hurt so much. He had no one. His family never cared for him. They were cruel and unforgiving, even more so when they found out he wanted to become something other than what they groomed him for. Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, to Jaskier, a bard? What a disgrace to the royal family.

And what a disgrace, he was. Taverns continuously booed him out the doors, tossing anything they could get their hands on at him. He lived his days with bread in his pants and blisters on his feet. He starved some days, lost sleep on others. Jaskier didn't remember being anything else but a walking, talking shell of a man those days.

Then he saw him: Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken, the White Wolf. The moment Jaskier laid his eyes on him, he knew the brooding man in the corner with ale the barkeep probably pissed in would be his greatest success yet (not that he had much going for him to begin with). Those years, somehow, were the best years of his life. Ironically, they were now his worst - and likely Geralt's, too.

Jaskier closed his eyes again, willing the tears to stop, but his body didn't seem keen on obeying. He let out a quivering sob. Fuck, he couldn't _do this_ anymore. He had nothing left, had no one left. Where would he go? What would he do? What was a life worth living if he was worth nothing? Jaskier turned his head to the lute case leaning against the tree. His heart clenched.

_I am so sorry, Filavandrel,_ Jaskier thought, rising to his feet and unclasping his cloak, _your lute deserved so much better._

Jaskier raised his head up, the moon tauntingly bright above him, almost as if it were smiling at his misfortune. He swallowed thickly. _Thank you, though, for lending it to me, for giving me something to live for. It's not its fault, or yours. Some things just hurt too much to cure._

Jaskier took a step forward and looked down at the waves crashing against the side of the cliff, seemingly trying to reach up to him and pull him down to them. He closed his eyes once more. _I'm sorry, Filavandrel._

He took a deep breath.

_I'm sorry, everyone._

He took another step forward. 

"Jaskier?"

_I'm sorry, Geralt._

_"Jaskier!"_

Jaskier took the final step forward, and then...he was falling. He didn't open his eyes, didn't dare to see his fate approach him. He made his bed, and it wasn't comfortable in the slightest, but he must lay in it. 

He heard a distant - _anguished?_ \- "No!" yelled from above him, and it squeezed at his heart for some reason, but he didn't have long to dwell on it.

Hitting the freezing water knocked the air out of his lungs and, for a moment, all he knew was pain. Sheer, breath-taking, agonizing pain. He felt his bones break, his skin bruise...but he was _alive_.

Jaskier opened his eyes and saw nothing but darkness surrounding him. He couldn't move his arms, his legs, his head. Why wasn't he dead? Why was he alive? Why wasn't he drowning at least?

Then, the pain disappeared as quickly as it came. The water closed in on him, almost like a hug, followed by, _**"Oh, no, my sweet Dandelion. How could I ever take the life of someone that has loved me so beautifully?"**_

The Voice.

Jaskier felt the routine calm wash over him again, which he couldn't explain considering the fact that he was floating in the middle of the ocean and _not dead_. 

Wait...what? What did she mean by that? What did she mean by her taking his life? He'd jumped into the _ocean._ Who the fuck-?

_Who are you?_

The sound of clinking seashells filled his ears. Jaskier's eyes flicked around to search for the source of laughter, but all he saw was blackness.

**_"My flower, have you really not guessed it?"_ **

If Jaskier's heart hadn't stopped before, it certainly did now. _What? What are you saying? What does this mean?_

**_"You have loved me since you were but a child. Even when you were told I was dangerous, you came to me, sang to me, loved me. All I could do to return the favor was save you from your unfortunate demise."_ **

Unable to think of anything else to say, Jaskier thought, _I didn't fall accidentally...I jumped._

**_"Sweetheart, I know,"_** The Voice replied, her voice tinged with deep sorrow and sympathy. Strangely, he didn't feel angry about her pity, probably because it didn't _feel_ like she was pitying him. It felt so much more...understanding than that.

_Have you always been here?_ Jaskier asked. 

**_"Who do you think it was that has been calling to you all these years?"_ **

It finally dawned on him. The water seemed to warm around him, a tight embrace in the otherwise pitch black of the ocean. The ocean...which had saved him. 

Awestruck, Jaskier whispered, _You're the voice..._

**_"Indeed, I am. Rest now, little flower. I will take care of you."_ **

A tight feeling grew in Jaskier's chest. _Will I wake up?_

**_"Of course you will. Though, you will not be the same as before."_ **

_What...What does that mean?_ He tried to stop the panic from welling up inside him, but he supposed he didn't fare too well when the water around him seemed to hold him tighter in response.

**_"For as vast and powerful as I am, I cannot control life and death. What I can control are the creatures that live alongside me."_ **

_What does that mean?!_

**_"When you wake, you will no longer be human. Do not fret, Dandelion, I will grant you a form, not unlike the beautiful soul you are now. Now,_ ** _**rest**_ **. _I will wake you when you have recovered."_**

_Recovered...?_

**_"Why, of course. You fell from a great height. Your human body could never survive that fall. What can survive is your soul."_ **

_I don't understand...This doesn't make sense to me!_ If he could move, Jaskier would have curled into a ball and pulled at his hair. He felt calm, but the frustration was starting to break through.

A deep sigh echoed in his ears, the sound of waves crashing on the shore. **_"I wish I could help you better understand, but it is so much easier to show you. Now,_ ** _**sleep** **, my darling Dandelion. When you wake, I will still be with you."**_

Jaskier didn't want to sleep. He had so much more to say, so many questions to ask, but before he could think anything else, he felt his eyes drift shut.

Then, he knew no more.


	4. Now You're Gone (Geralt's Interlude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt finds out a bard had left the tavern just moments before he arrived. He hopes it's Jaskier...then he doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Heed the tags above._**   
> 

_"Now you're gone,  
_ _I realized my love for you was strong.  
_ _And I miss you here now you're gone.  
_ _Is this the way it's meant to be?  
_ _Only dreaming that you're missing me._  
 _I'm waiting here at home.  
_ _I'll be crazy, now you're gone."_

~ _Now You're Gone,_ Basshunter

xxxxxxx

Geralt huffed, his breath lingering in front of him in the cold air as he set about situating Roach in the stable. He had traveled for hours on end, only stopping to give Roach a break once in a while. Being able to travel like that hadn't been possible for a long time, especially not when he had a human traveling alongside him.

But he didn't have a human beside him anymore.

His heart clenched at the thought of Jaskier, but he pushed it aside. What was done was done. He couldn't take back the words he'd said to the bard on the mountain, no matter how much he wanted to. He regretted every insult he spat, knowing deep down it hadn't been Jaskier's fault for any of it. Gods, he was such an _idiot_. Of course Jaskier had been there for every shitty thing that happened after he'd met the bard.

_"I'll always be there, Geralt. It's what friends do."_

Geralt gritted his teeth. He couldn't think of a single excuse to support why he snapped at Jaskier like that, didn't deserve an excuse. He lost the one person who never feared him, who loved him unconditionally, who grew feral at any person who even thought to disrespect the witcher. 

A huff from Roach ripped him out of his self-deprecating musings. He gave her a small smile, despite the clearly judgmental glare he was getting from her. She'd noticed the loss of the bard's flamboyant presence and associated it with Geralt's grim mood from when he returned from the mountain. She chose to ignore him and gave him attitude any chance she got, seemingly pissed at him. He understood. He was pissed off at himself, too.

"I know, girl," he murmured to her as he removed Roach's saddle and his bags, "I know."

She tossed her head at him and he let out an irritated sigh. He grabbed anything he thought he'd might need and entered the tavern, his hood pulled up and tracking snow on the wood floor. He immediately sensed the somber mood of the patrons, and he thought it to be a bit peculiar, but he assumed they were just upset about the frigid snowfall outside. Geralt made his way to the bar, catching the barmaid's attention, who had a sorrowful look on her face. He resisted the urge to frown, a familiar voice in his reminding him, _"You look so dreadful with that...frown on your face. Brood a little less as to not scare people off, why don't you?"_

The barmaid tried to smile at him, but it fell flat despite her best efforts. With a sigh, she asked, "Room, dinner, and ale?"

He gave her a quizzical look. In response, she merely said, "A bard came through here asking for the same thing, but he took off before I could give him anything he asked for. Poor thing. He gave us a splendid show."

Geralt hummed. He knew he shouldn't ask - it was really none of his business - but there was a spark of hope in him that he couldn't ignore. "If the show was so great, why is the mood so somber?"

She shook her head sadly. "I've never met someone so heartbroken. The whole tavern hurts for him."

A heartbroken bard? Geralt shifted uncomfortably. That sounded eerily familiar. He hummed again. No. He had to remind himself, there was far more than one bard on the Continent. The likelihood of Jaskier being in this town compared to Oxenfurt or even Cintra was slim to none. But still...

He found his mouth moving before he could stop it. "Which way did he go?"

The barmaid sent him a skeptical look. "Why...?"

Geralt gave a slight shrug. "No one should be in the freezing cold."

She was silent for a minute, giving him an appraising stare, but he didn't crack under her gaze. Finally, she pointed forward and slightly to the left. "He went out the door and took off in that direction."

"Do you know what's that way?"

He heard her swallow thickly and watched her shift her gaze to stare down sadly at the bar top. "A cliff," he heard her murmur.

That answer, combined with the mournful look on her face, had Geralt's heart stopping in his throat. Before he could register the words fully, his body was already bracing against the howling wind biting at his face. He hadn't pulled his hood down, thankfully, so he merely gathered the edges of his cloak and brought them closer together. If it was cold for him, it must be freezing for Jaskier. 

Geralt shook his head. No, he needed to stop that. He didn't know if the bard was Jaskier. It could be anybody, any bard on the Continent. But...

A growl escaped his throat. Fuck. His mind was telling him one thing, but his heart told him another. He needed to check, just to be sure. If it wasn't Jaskier, well, he'd figure out what to do then. He assumed the bard wouldn't want to be in the company of a witcher, and Geralt wasn't exactly one to convey feelings appropriate for heartbreak, if any at all.

That was a lie. He knew two main emotions: rage and fear. He scoffed to himself. As much as Jaskier used to disagree, the people who hated witchers had one thing right: witchers could only destroy. Of all the emotions to feel, Geralt felt the two most volatile ones. Anger scares people away.

Fear scared Jaskier away.

Geralt never thought he could get Jaskier to leave. The bard didn't fear him, didn't flinch away from his anger, didn't show disgust when Geralt drank his potions. He stuck by Geralt through the thick and thin, through every undeserved insult hurled his way, through a wish designed to shut Jaskier up and nearly quieted him forever. And yet, Geralt eventually did as witchers do and destroyed, destroyed Jaskier's heart. He didn't think he could ever forgive himself for that.

Geralt sighed, pushing through his breath floating visibly in front of him as the cliff came into view. He could see a figure kneeling at the edge, but his outline only showed a dark silhouette in the night, the moonlight just barely falling short. Geralt hesitated for a moment - what if he was wrong? - before taking a few steps forward. 

In the corner of his eye, he could see a lute case propped up against a tree. Definitely a bard...but was it his bard's-

No. 

But was it _Jaskier's_ lute? 

Geralt turned his focus back to the bard kneeling at the edge, a little _too_ close to the edge for Geralt to believe this outing to be anything with good intentions. The wind was harsh and frigid. The bard's cloak was wrapped around him, but Geralt doubted it actually did much to shield from the cold. 

Moving a bit closer, Geralt's enhanced senses started to take in the barest of details in the pitch-black night. Only slightly louder than the wind, he could hear waves crashing below, and though he couldn't see over the cliffside's incline just yet, he knew there was a body of water spanning in front. Geralt's heart started to sink. This definitely wasn't an innocent visit for the view.

Then his eyes saw it. It wasn't much. A regular human would barely be able to see it if they were standing a foot away in broad daylight, much less several yards away in winter's darkest night. 

A small splash of pale yellow stained the dead center of the cloak's back.

 _White Honey_ , Geralt thought, breath leaving his lungs in a sharp exhale. It was _him_. It had to be. There was no way some random bard would have the exact same fucking stain on the same colored cloak as Jaskier's. Geralt could remember how it happened, too.

_"Fuck, Jaskier! Careful with those!" Geralt snarled, panting against the toxicity in his veins. The anger wasn't directed purely at Jaskier, but rather at himself. He knew he shouldn't have taken so many potions, but fuck those villagers. They told him there'd only been one cockatrice, not four._

_"Sorry, sorry!" Jaskier called back, worry and concern evident in his voice as he sifted through Roach's saddlebags. "You really ought to fucking label these potions, Geralt," Jaskier huffed, frustrated, "I can't tell which is what!"_

_"The pale yellow one," Geralt repeated, squeezing his eyes shut tight and gritting his teeth, "Round bottle."_

_"This one?'_

_Geralt opened his eyes to see Jaskier holding a potion over his shoulder, though the bard hadn't turned around and was still searching through the bag just in case._

_"Yes, that one," Geralt growled._

_Jaskier immediately whirled around and rushed to Geralt's side. He had laid his cloak on Geralt's body, if only to serve a little bit of comfort to the witcher's suffering. He sat behind Geralt, lifting the witcher's torso to rest on his. Geralt opened his mouth and Jaskier moved to open the cork. Apparently, he opened it a bit too aggressively because a drop of White Honey sloshed out of the bottle and onto Jaskier's cloak._

_Geralt let out a huff, but he quickly covered it with a half-assed remark to ease Jaskier's fears that the anger was directed at him. "That's never going to come out."_

_Jaskier laughed, a shakiness tinging it in a way Geralt didn't like. "Well, that dark cloak did need a bit of color." He tilted the bottle to Geralt's lips. "Really, now. I appreciate the gift - truly, I do - but you should know by now that black is definitely not my color."_

_Despite that comment, however, Jaskier never traded away the stained cloak or bought another one. He claimed it was because the stain was hardly noticeable and the cloak was in otherwise perfect condition. Geralt didn't argue._

Geralt shook himself out of the memory, the thought bringing back a tight feeling in his chest he didn't want to think about. Instead, he focused back on the figure at the cliff, who was now undeniably Jaskier. Geralt's mouth went dry.

_He's too fucking close._

Jaskier was standing now, dropping his cloak to the ground. He took one, two slow steps forward. Geralt's heart leapt to his throat.

"Jaskier?" he called. The bard showed no signs of hearing him. 

_"Jaskier!"_ Geralt bellowed, lurching forward, feet carrying him as fast he could towards Jaskier.

He was too late.

Geralt could only watch in horror as Jaskier took the final step, his body falling over the edge and out of Geralt's line of sight.

 _"No!"_ Geralt cried in anguish, finally reaching the cliff's edge, arm held out uselessly as if reaching for something. He peered over just in time to see the water ripple at the bottom, the distant sound of something colliding harshly against the waves reaching his ears. 

He couldn't breathe. Geralt sunk to his knees beside the discarded cloak, positioning himself in a way unlike Jaskier had been before...before he...

"No..." Geralt whispered, staring disbelievingly at the water. "No. No, no, no, _no!"_

He pounded his fist against the ground. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. He felt his breath hitch. Growling, he punched the ground again. 

"Fuck!" he roared, slamming his fist once more against stone, sure that his knuckles were bleeding under his glove. 

Before he could stop it, his breath hitched again. Opening his eyes soon turned out to be a mistake. His eyes burned, and something wet cascaded down his cheeks. Raising his fingers to his face, Geralt stared in disbelief as his glove came back wet with tears and not snow. When had been the last time he cried? The Trial of Grasses?

Geralt scoffed, closing his eyes again and letting the tears flow silently. He couldn't...Jaskier...

What was he supposed to do now?

Jaskier, the only person to never fear him. Jaskier, the only one to love him unconditionally. Jaskier, the only one to grow feral at any person who even thought to disrespect him.

Jaskier, Jaskier, Jaskier.

The only one to stick by him, to care for him, to love him. 

And he was gone.

Geralt craned his head to the side and locked his gaze on the black lute case. With shaking legs, he stood, grabbing the cloak lying just inches away from him, and stumbled over to the tree, knees giving out once he was in front of it, only now noticing the coin purse resting beside the case. His normally steady hands trembled as he reached for the little purse, feeling how heavy it was. Geralt let out a choked breath. Jaskier had money. He could've spent the night warm in an inn, stomach stuffed with food and ale. So why? Why did he...? _Why?_

Geralt bit his lip as he set the cloak aside and took the lute in his hands, cradling it with a care he never did before. He could practically hear Jaskier in his ear.

_"She's delicate, Geralt! My whole life rests in that case! You can't just toss her around like one of your swords, you brute!"_

_"Jaskier, it's just an instrument."_

_"'Just an instrument,' he says. That instrument is paying for this room, so show her some respect!"_

Fresh tears flooded his cheeks as he opened the case. Sure enough, whatever tiny tidbit of hope he had still remaining was crushed. Geralt ran delicate fingers of the carvings on Filavandrel's lute. No, _Jaskier's_ lute. 

"Jaskier..." he whispered, voice cracking, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

The wind whipped around him, threatening to pull back his hood and expose his skin to its ferocity. Geralt could hardly feel it. No amount of torture could ever make him feel a pain greater than the one in his heart. 

Jaskier, Jaskier, Jaskier.

He missed the sound of Jaskier's voice rambling behind him as he stoked the campsite's fire. He missed Jaskier's singing from beside him as he rode Roach. He missed Jaskier's smile, his laugh. He missed joking with the bard. He missed the extravagantly colored clothes he wore, offsetting Geralt's monochromatic black outfits. He missed the way Jaskier's fingers strummed over his lute, playing the raunchiest songs Geralt would ever hear to the softest lullaby made to calm Geralt from a nightmare. He missed Jaskier. 

Jaskier was all he had left to care for in this world.

_And now you're gone._

Geralt buried his face into Jaskier's cloak, breathing in the mixed scent of lavender, vanilla, and chamomile.

The wind drowned out the witcher's sobs.


	5. Wash It All Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier wakes up after his fall from the cliff. He thinks he's not the same person he was before. The voice in his head tells him otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this chapter contains _**implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced child neglect, and an implied/referenced suicide attempt.**_ If any of these warnings, trigger you, exit out of the story. Your mental health is worth more than a work of fiction.

_"I'm wasting here  
_ _Can anyone wash it all away?  
_ _I'm waiting here_  
 _For anyone to wash it all away.  
_ _Wash it all away."_

_~ Wash It All Away,_ Five Finger Death Punch

xxxxxxx

Blackness.

It's dark. 

He knows nothing.

He feels nothing.

No, that's wrong. He feels _something_.

It's not much, but it's there.

Faint.

Out of reach.

He can't move, can't see. Where are his arms, his legs? He can't move his head. Does he even have a body? Where-?

**_"Everything is okay, my love. I will keep you safe and sound."_ **

That voice.

He knows her.

_Hello?_ he calls out. His voice. Where was his voice? Why couldn't he speak? 

_**"Yes,"**_ comes the response, **_"I am here. Do not fret. It will all be over soon."_**

_What's going on? Where am I?_

_**"You are safe in my arms. I am holding you. I will not let you go, not until you are ready."** _

_Ready? Ready for what?_

_**"All will be clear soon enough. Rest."** _

He doesn't want to.

He does.

xxxxxxx

The blackness is gone. 

It's blue. Light blue.

Something white is glistening above him, bright.

He wants to reach out.

He can't.

**_"Ah, you have awakened again."_ **

_Where am I?_

_**"I thought I would bring you a little closer to the surface. I cannot let you go just yet, but I thought a little closeness might soothe you."** _

_Soothe me?_

_**"Yes. I know you are scared, worried. I know you are afraid that you cannot move, but I assure you, it is not my intention to trap you here. I only wish for you to recover."** _

_Recover? Recover from what?_

_**"The fall."** _

_What fall? I fell? Fell from where? Where am I?_

The sound of waves crashing on the shore echoed around him. 

He knew that sound. 

A sigh?

Seashells clinking replaced the waves. **_"I suppose you do remember some things. Good. It means you will be okay."_**

_There was a doubt that I wasn't going to be?_

**_"Of course not,"_** the voice replied immediately, **_"but there was a doubt that you would be the same. Now I know I was wrong to ever think that way. You are stronger than you think."_**

The bright blue glimmering and rippling above him started to blur.

He felt heavy.

Tired.

**_"Rest, my child."_ **

He didn't fight it.

xxxxxxx

Jaskier gasped as he was dumped unceremoniously onto muddy ground, hands fumbling desperately for purchase on any rock he could get his hands on. He huffed, sucking in as much air as he could, coughing up water in between gasps. Water streamed down every inch of him: his hair, his clothes, his skin. 

Just over the sound of his harsh panting, he heard, **_"My apologies. I did not mean to be so rough, but you awoke earlier than I expected."_**

"Wha-?" Jaskier shakily pushed his upper half up, arms shaking from exertion, leaving his whole body to be a trembling mess. "What the fuck?"

He looked around at his surroundings. He was sitting on a riverbed in the middle of the woods. No one was near him, and he could barely make out the sounds of animals, prompting him to tilt his head to empty his ears of river water.

**_"Do you remember what happened?"_ **

Jaskier blinked, pushing himself up a bit more to situate himself in an upright sitting position. He raised a hand to his aching head, closing his eyes as he tried to think. Flashes came to him. Music, rooms of people, a man with white hair...a mountain. He remembered a mountain.

He hissed in pain as his head throbbed painfully at the almost-memory. His heart started to hurt and, for a moment, he wondered if he was suffering from the beginnings of a heart attack.

The voice laughed, but even Jaskier knew it held nothing more than sadness. **_"No, my dear. You are not suffering from a heart attack. You are mourning."_**

"Mourning?" he murmured, opening his eyes blearily, fingers still massaging his temple, "What am I mourning?"

**_"Think. Remember."_ **

Jaskier exhaled loudly, expressing his frustration, but complied. He closed his eyes once more and tried to remember.

The mountain, the mountain. He remembered standing on a mountain. The white-haired man was there. He was angry. Golden eyes flashed with fury, fury directed at him. There was a pang of loneliness in his chest. Something hurt. His heart? His lungs? Both?

**_"Calm yourself, my flower. It is okay."_ **

A wave of comfort fell over him, and the pain dulled considerably, but it didn't go away. Jaskier didn't mind. It helped. It made things clearer. Why did pain make things clearer? He grit his teeth against the ache in his head. Pain. It reminded him of a time...Why couldn't he remember?

Loneliness. Solitude. That was all he could feel. It was cold, freezing. Snow. He remembered snow. He recalled a tavern. Yes, a tavern. A...lute? In his hands. He was playing. Fun. He had fun. He felt happiness, joy. It felt new...How long had it been since he felt happy?

**_"Three months. That is how long it had been since you last felt joy. You had not felt it for three months before the tavern."_ **

"What?" Jaskier hissed, fingers twitching against his hairline, "What happened to me?"

**_"Remember."_ **

Jaskier growled in frustration. Mountain, angry man, loneliness, snow, a tavern, playing a lute, being happy...a cliff. He sucked in a sharp breath. There was a cliff. A steep one. There were waves below. He'd felt...sad. Overwhelmingly so. Despair, hurt, sorrow. He remembered emotional pain so great, it was almost physical. Pain. He _remembered._

Jaskier's eyes flew open, head snapping up to stare at the river in front of him. "I jumped," he whispered.

**_"Yes,"_ **the voice answered sadly, **_"You did, but I caught you. I nursed you back to health. Now, you are here."_**

It all came flowing back to him. The fight on the mountain, the three months he spent alone, playing in the tavern, jumping off the cliff, the ocean talking to him.

_Geralt._

_**"Ah, so you remember his name."** _

"Geralt," Jaskier murmured, cradling his head in his hands. "I remember now."

He shook his head, trying to make sense of all the memories overwhelming him. Twenty-two years of following Geralt around. He recalled the heartbreak, the hurt. Jaskier dug his fingers into his scalp, pulling at his hair.

"Geralt. Geralt...he was there." Jaskier dug his fingers in deeper. "I heard him. Before I jumped. _He was there_."

The voice hummed. **_"He was. He saw you. He tried to catch you, but it was too late."_**

Jaskier felt his heart stop, and he clutched at his chest as a sharp gasp escaped him. "Fuck. Oh, Gods. I thought...Oh, _Melitele._ "

_**"Calm yourself, Jaskier. Everything will be alright,"**_ the voice soothed,

Jaskier's hands dropped. "How do you know that?!" he snapped, gesturing wildly. "I don't know where I am, or how long it's been! For fuck's sake, I tried to kill myself! And Geralt saw!" Jaskier's voice stuttered to a stop as one last memory flooded back to him.

"And...and you told me I wouldn't be that same. That my 'human body' couldn't survive the fall." He scrambled to the edge of the river and glared down at his reflection. Bright blue eyes, brown hair, cherry red lips, and pale skin stared back at him. He looked the same, didn't feel much different... "What did you mean?"

For a moment, the voice was quiet. Then, a soft sigh echoed around him. **_"Step into the river."_**

"What?"

**_"Step into the river. Come to me."_ **

Jaskier hesitated, breath pausing as he contemplated entering the same place he'd spent who knows how long in. With a deep breath, Jaskier shed his doublet and undershirt and clambered to his feet, legs shaking from disuse. He stumbled - very _ungracefully_ \- into the water, noticing how the cold barely affected him and how his clothes remained dry. Jaskier waded with bated breath into the middle of the river, feet no longer touching the ground. He moved his arms in an attempt to keep himself afloat.

**_"Now close your eyes and think. Imagine yourself becoming one with the river. Let your worries melt away. Focus on floating, how the water moves around you. Flow with the motions. Be...flexible."_ **

Closing his eyes in the middle of the water certainly didn't rank high on his bucket list, but Jaskier complied, letting his eyes shut and focusing on treading water. He let his arms and legs move in a repetitive motion, letting the pattern become as instinctual as playing scales on his lute. Once he got the basic motions down, he exhaled deeply and heightened his attention on the water. He focused on the feeling of the water pushing against him, the water colliding with his body before diverging around his limbs and resuming its journey. He sensed how the water seemed to hold him, cradle him, press in on his body. It felt... _natural_.

_**"There. You are understanding,"**_ the voice praised, sounding a bit proud of Jaskier. **_"Now let yourself go."_**

_What?_ he thought, still attempting to concentrate on the movement of the water.

**_"Ease yourself into letting your surroundings melt away. You are safe here. This is your home."_ **

Home.

When was the last time he had a home?

Jaskier moved his legs to tread water once more when he realized his legs weren't fully cooperating anymore. They felt stuck together, glued into one as he tried to kick out. Fear flushed cold through his veins, eyes flying open and flicking down to look through the clear water. His heart nearly stopped at the sight.

_What the fuck?!_

The voice, on the other hand, sounded absolutely delighted, seashells clinking loudly in his ears. **_"Yes, my sweet flower! You did it! Well done!"_**

"Done it?" Jaskier repeated incredulously, still attempting to kick his legs out to keep himself afloat. His skin shivered as his... _tail_ flicked back and forth in spastic motions. He glared down at his reflection again, trying to hide his wince at the scales on his face. He shivered when he caught sight of his pointed teeth - almost like daggers - and how his eyes had brightened to a shocking blue, pupils now slits in the irises. "What the fuck is happening? Why do I have a tail?!"

The voice hummed. **_"You remember when I said that your human body could not survive that fall. I told you I would help you, make you into something that was not unlike you already."_**

"I didn't have a damn tail!" Jaskier cried out, shooting a look at his now bare torso and arms, which were covered with translucent scales glimmering in the sunlight. His fingernails had lengthened a bit and came to a razor-sharp point. Staring just past his hands, his stomach rolled uncomfortably at the sight of his dark blue tail flicking beneath the surface, his scales catching the sunlight and glinting with a rainbow hue. Fins lined the back of his tail, the membrane displaying a much paler blue - almost green - color to them. The same went for the fins at the very end. If he hadn't been so afraid, he probably would have found them to be gorgeous. 

But no, he was very afraid.

**_"No, you did not. What you did have, however, was a beautiful singing voice and an adoration for water, so I turned you into a creature with just those qualities."_ **

Jaskier's breath hitched in his throat. Oh, Gods...

**_"You are now a Siren."_ **

xxxxxxx

Jaskier didn't talk to the voice for a week after that. Instead, he managed to swim back to shore using mainly his arms, refusing to look at his new scales or use his tail. Begrudgingly, he listened to the voice's directions on how to get his legs back and withdraw his scales, but after that, he ignored any advance she made to strike up a conversation. He still bathed in the river daily, but he always exited as fast as he could. It didn't take long for her to understand his need for space. Distinctly, guilt clawed in the pit of his stomach, but he pushed it aside. He just needed a moment.

This was... _a lot._

Jaskier looked down at his trembling hands, sitting down on a fallen log near the fire he had started in his measly campsite. He had nothing to help him. No bedroll, no tent, no coin...no lute. Jaskier's heart clenched. Had he known the ocean would catch him, he would have dived off with the lute still strapped to his back.

He shook his head vehemently at himself. No. He couldn't do that, especially not to Filavandrel's lute. The elf king earned far more respect than Jaskier could offer. His lute did not deserve to be tainted by Jaskier's negativity and weak will.

Thinking back on it, to that night when he jumped, Jaskier could only feel disappointment. Why had he jumped? Dying seemed so easy at the moment, but he hadn't fought so hard to live, trudged through months of snowfalls and rain and hunger and loneliness, only to throw it all away in a second's decision. He regretted taking that step off the cliff. If he'd only given himself just a little bit more time to wallow, to grieve, maybe he would have been okay. It wasn't as if there were no options available to him. He could have played in taverns from time to time - his coin bag had been more than full by the end of that night - and, once he felt even the slightest bit better, started to work his way into royal courts again. 

Why did he jump?

He remembered a time when he loved life as much as he loved music. He fell in love with everyone, bedded anyone, and cared for all. He recalled moments in his life when he gave and gave and gave. He gave to the barmaids in a tavern. He gave to innkeepers and butchers, to knights and nobles, to men and women. He gave all he had. And then he surrendered all of himself - every last drop - to a certain white-haired witcher. 

How could he have been so foolish? One of the first things his father beat into him as a child was to trust no one, love no one. People only served to disappoint, but Jaskier could never call to mind a moment where he had been disappointed. It was never someone else's fault. It was always his. Maybe Geralt had been right. Maybe he did shovel all the shit that happened to the two of them over the past twenty-two years. Maybe everything happened because of him.

Jaskier sighed, head dropping into his shaking hands. Where did his love go? He used to think he held an infinite amount, that he would never run out. He loved and loved and loved. It was the one thing he truly knew how to do. Where did it all fall apart?

**_"You do have love, Jaskier. You just fail to love yourself."_ **

Jaskier's head shot up, an inexplicable feeling of anger rising in his chest. Why was she here?

**_"I am sorry. I thought...I thought if I gave you this form, perhaps you would be able to realize what you were missing out on."_ **

"What the _fuck_ does that mean?" Jaskier snarled. "I'm a _Siren_. I'm a monster, the very things I used to watch Geralt cut down. I'm something people fear. How can I love them if all they want to do is hate me?"

The voice sighed, a melancholic tone in his ears that hurt his heart. **_"My love, you are not a monster. A monster seeks to harm, to kill, to hate. You are incapable of such despicable acts. Even if you do kill one day, I know it will not be of malicious intent. It will be out of self-defense, that I know. You are still the beautiful Dandelion who placed buttercups in my streams in Lettenhove."_**

Jaskier shook his head. "No, I'm not."

**_"You are. I remember the flowers you left to drift in my streams, the times you sat on my river beds. I remember the days when you would play in my lakes and ponds, let my waterfalls cascade over you. You loved me so dearly, sang me a lullaby so long ago now, when I first came to you on that sleepless night. I remember you from then, and I see you now. You are the same Julian I met all those years ago."_ **

"He died when I jumped off that cliff," Jaskier bit out angrily.

_**"No,"**_ the voice replied sternly, **_"he did not. He was hurting and broken. He just needed someone to piece him together. Now, he is scarred, but only a little. Scars are not something to be ashamed of. They are a memory, a lesson. You are the same Jaskier I have always known, just a little grown."_**

Jaskier tried to swallow around the lump in his throat, tears building at the corners of his eyes. He tried to speak, but words failed him, caught. Instead, he just grit his teeth and bowed his head as the tears spilled down his cheeks. His body trembled with forceful sobs. The voice murmured soft consolations as he cried, unable to hold him as well as she could have if he had been in the water. 

He didn't know how long he cried, but he soon found his body feeling heavy. He slid himself down from the log, landing on the forest ground. Shifting to lay down on his side with his arm as a pillow, Jaskier closed his eyes, not bothering to wipe the tears from his face. Who would see them? No one. Because he was alone.

**_"No, you are not alone. You never have been."_ **

Jaskier chuckled quietly, a sad and pitiful sound escaping his throat. "You said earlier...that you wanted me to see what I was missing out on. What am I missing?"

The voice hummed gently. **_"You remember the cliffside, yes?"_**

"You know I do."

**_"Do you remember what you heard?"_ **

Jaskier swallowed thickly, trying to recall the moments where he stepped off. He thought back to the fall. Stepping forward...again...once more...

_"Jaskier!"_

Falling...falling...falling...

_"No!"_

Jaskier's hands clenched into tight fists, nails digging into his palm, and he curled himself up tighter, trying to ignore how his face burned with shame. "Geralt..." he whispered, voice cracking.

**_"When we were walking to the village, you asked me if I thought he meant what he said on the mountain."_ **

"You told me it was something I had to answer for myself."

**_"I did. Do you have your answer now?"_ **

Jaskier frowned, opening his eyes and staring at the fire flickering a few feet away from him. "No? Him being there doesn't mean anything."

**_"Does it not? He called for you, reached for you as you fell."_ **

Jaskier's heart stuttered at thought of what Geralt reaching for him must've looked like. "Geralt saves people. It's what he does."

**_"He saves people from monsters. Do you really think he would go out of his way in the middle of winter's darkest night to save someone he did not know needed saving, much less someone he did not know at all?"_ **

"He's helped people before without monsters," Jaskier argued, but even he was starting to see her point.

**_"My darling, it would have been nigh impossible to know if someone was standing on the cliff's edge. It was far too dark, too cold for anyone to be out. It would have been incredibly difficult for him to pick out your scent with the wind blowing in every direction. What does that tell you?"_ **

Jaskier shifted uncomfortably. He pretended it was because of the hard dirt he was laying on. "It doesn't mean anything."

**_"There is a difference between it not meaning anything and you not wanting it to mean something."_ **

"Does it matter?" Jaskier huffed, frowning like a petulant child.

**_"It does. Who was the last person on your mind when you fell?"_ **

"Geralt," Jaskier whispered, even though no one else could hear him, "He...actively looked for me."

The voice hummed in agreement. _**"Yes, that would be a fair answer, would it not?"**_ Jaskier swore she sounded a bit sarcastic.

"Why would he look for me?"

**_"Well, why would you look for someone?"_ **

"What I would do versus what Geralt would do is completely different."

**_"I know you are not that shallow, Jaskier. After all, you are the only person in the world to boast that witchers feel emotions."_ **

"He was very clear about what he _felt_ during the dragon hunt, thank you very much," Jaskier hissed.

**_"Was the anguish in his voice when you fell not emotional enough for you?"_ **

"He hasn't apologized."

_**"Jaskier, you stepped off a cliff. I do not think there was ample time to apologize,"**_ she deadpanned. 

Jaskier huffed out a resigned laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're right." He fell silent, mulling it all over in his head. "Do you think he actually cares?"

**_"I cannot speak-"_ **

"-for another. Yes, you've said that before," Jaskier rolled his eyes, "Just humor me."

The voice hesitated. _**"Yes,"**_ she said, **_"I do believe so."_**

The relief Jaskier expected to feel didn't come. Instead, his chest only tightened, an overwhelming sense of regret, shame, and sorrow filled him. Of course. Geralt always did have shitty timing. The one second Jaskier actually wanted to end his life - and almost succeeded in doing so - Geralt decided to show up. Destiny must really fucking hate the both of them.

Jaskier exhaled deeply through his nose, closing his eyes once more as he tried to settle himself for sleep. "How long has it been? Since the cliff?"

**_"Hm. Including this past week, I would say about a month and half."_ **

Jaskier tried to hide the horror he felt at having lost out on over a month of his life, a time he couldn't remember on top of that. "A month and a half, huh?" he replied quietly. A huff fell from his lips. "You know, all this time, and I have yet to know your name."

**_"Hm. Well, I am water. I am the oceans, the seas, the lakes, the rivers, the ponds, the streams...I suppose if you called me any of those, it would suffice."_ **

"It would suffice," Jaskier repeated, "but there _is_ something you would rather be called, isn't there?"

**_"...My name has not been used in many, many decades."_ **

"You turned me into a Siren. I think I should have the privilege of being the first to say your name in however long it's been," Jaskier snorted.

**_"Yes, I suppose so..."_** he voice paused. **_"You may call me Oaris."_**

"Oaris..." Jaskier murmured, letting the name roll off his tongue, "like oasis but... _Oaris..._ " Jaskier smiled. "It's pretty."

A gentle breeze that smelled distinctly like the ocean air ruffled his hair. **_"Thank you, beautiful Dandelion. Your names are pretty as well."_**

Jaskier chuckled. "You know all the pet names aren't necessary, right? 'Jaskier' works just fine."

_**"I will call you any name I please,"**_ Oaris retorted, but there was a blissful lilt to her voice that hadn't been there before in the time he had known her.

"Okay, okay," Jaskier conceded, "Who am I to argue with water herself?"

Oaris laughed. **_"Sleep, my little flower. Tomorrow, we teach you to use that tail of yours."_**

Jaskier's heart skipped a beat, trying to quell the fear sparking within him. "Oaris, will I...will I be like other Sirens? You know, the ones that... _kill_ people?"

_**"No,"**_ Oaris said firmly. **_"I meant what I said before, I know you. You will never kill unless you need to. Choosing to kill is entirely on the person. Sirens choose to kill, choose to be monsters. In reality, they could be just as peaceful as you. No, you will not be like the other Sirens. You will be the same Jaskier with an added...bonus."_**

"Good...good," Jaskier mumbled sleepily. 

Oaris chuckled, and another soft ocean breeze tickled him again. **_"Sleep, my lovely flower. I will always be here."_**

With one last deep exhale, Jaskier drifted off to sleep with dreams of the open sea.


	6. Secret Melody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier starts to take the next steps in becoming a siren.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, the song Jaskier sings in this chapter was actually written as a remake to the Healing Incantion from _Tangled_!

_"Remember me,  
Though I have to say goodbye.  
Remember me,  
Don't let it make you cry.  
For even if I'm far away,  
I'll hold you in my heart.  
I sing a secret song to you  
Each night we are apart."_

~ _Remember Me,_ Iñigo Pascual, _Coco_

xxxxxxx

The next couple of months flew by. Ever since Jaskier came to terms with his turn into a siren, Oaris guided him through his new abilities. For about two hours three times a day, Jaskier would take a dip into any nearby body of water, and Oaris talked him through how to control his tail, how to breathe underwater, and how to use his claws to his advantage. One thing she had yet to teach him, however, was how to Sing.

 _ **"You do not need that skill, not yet,"**_ she told him two days after he agreed to train.

"Are you afraid of what would happen if I figure it out?" he'd asked her.

 ** _"Of course not. I am afraid of how you will feel when you realize what you can do."_ **At Jaskier's confused silence, she said, **_"I am not afraid of what you will do unto others. I am afraid of what you will do unto yourself."_**

He didn't ask again after that.

Which led to now.

**_"My love, relax."_ **

Jaskier rolled his eyes, surveying the bottom of the freshwater lake he was currently swimming in. Fish - mostly bass, pike, and trout - propelled past him, completely ignoring his existence. He grinned when his eyes landed on a glimmering spot just a few feet from him, water pushing through his sharp teeth and pooling into his mouth. It didn't bother him as much as when he'd been human. His siren self had gills to breathe through, so, really, the water never reached his lungs. It had taken some getting used to, but he thought he was getting the hang of it.

"I am relaxed," Jaskier said, flicking his long blue tail up and down to dive toward the shiny object. Bubbles rose from his mouth as he spoke. "I'm just...excited. I lost this about a year or two ago. It's only luck that I've found it again."

**_"If I had known you missed it that much, I would have brought it to the surface for you."_ **

"You could have done that?!"

**_"Yes, of course."_ **

Jaskier gave a scandalized face. "Do you know how many of my things I've lost to you? And you're telling me you could've just _given them back_?"

**_"You never asked."_ **

"I never knew you existed!" Jaskier pulled himself to a stop, body angled downwards as he let his hands roam through the silt at the bottom of the lake. His dark blue tail flicked aimlessly above him. 

**_"Well, I suppose that is a fair statement. Allow me to help you now at least."_ **

Before Jaskier could reply, the water around him pulled at the bottom, a small current in front of his very face. His eyes, which shined through the water like a torch in a shadowy cave, landed on the shiny object he had been looking for. Jaskier lifted the item with shaky hands that had nothing to do with the chilly water surrounding him, something that never really affected him anymore. 

He swished his tail in a downward stroke, pulling himself into an upright position, his bottom fins barely grazing the lake's bottom. He let his fingers run over the bird symbol carved into a gold medallion, the chain dangling through his sharp nails. He turned it over again and again in his hands, almost in complete disbelief that he was able to hold this necklace once more. Surprisingly, it was in the same perfect condition it had been when he first lost it.

**_"Of course it is. Did you really think I would allow myself to destroy something that once belonged to you?"_ **

Jaskier snorted, swiping away at the bubbles that floated in front of his face from the action. "Well, you hadn't told me I could get it back, so for all you knew, I didn't want it back."

**_"That does not necessarily mean I would damage it. You know me better than that, Dandelion."_ **

"I know," Jaskier hummed, gently stroking the delicate carvings of the bird's wings and beak, "Thank you. For keeping it safe."

**_"My pleasure."_ **

Jaskier stared at the medallion a little bit longer, a soft smile on his face. He remembered through market stalls with Geralt in a town near Vizima. The witcher had been on the hunt for more potion ingredients while Jaskier was...being Jaskier, ooh-ing and aah-ing at every object that caught his eye. Except for this one. This one he'd merely stared at without saying a word. Geralt barely noticed, choosing instead to move towards the botany section of the market. Jaskier, however, stepped off to the side to admire the medallion a bit more.

It reminded him of Geralt's wolf medallion, the one that had saved their arses more times than he could count. Jaskier highly doubted this one had any magical capabilities, but damn, did it look gorgeous. And besides, since when was it ever a bad idea to match with a best friend?

_The merchant caught him staring and gave him a kind smile. "You, bard, you're with the witcher, right?" he asked._

_Jaskier looked up at him, hesitant. Often, nothing good came from those words. "Yes?" he replied, skeptical and his answer coming out more of a question as to "why do you want to know?"_

_The merchant merely laughed. "I caught the tail end of your show last night. My, do you put on a good one." He winked at Jaskier. "For that, and for how your witcher slew the beast outside our town's borders-" that was true, Geralt had slain a few stray barghests by request of the town's alderman - "I'll give this to you for free."_

_Jaskier quickly waved him off. "No, no, I couldn't. This is worth far too much."_

_"Nonsense!" The merchant boomed, a grand smile on his face. "Your witcher's hard work is payment enough. Consider this a second-hand gift, yes?"_

_"I-"_

_"Lad, just take it."_

_Jaskier gave a warm smile as he reached out and gratefully took the medallion from the merchant's hands. "Thank you, kind sir. If only there were more people with your compassion."_

_**"It is a pretty medallion** ,"_ Oaris whispered.

"It is, isn't it? Geralt was amused when he saw it. Barely smiled - didn't really smile at all, actually - but I knew." Jaskier sighed, his heart panged with longing as he thought of his best friend. "I always knew."

**_"You two worked well together."_ **

"I thought so, too. I guess he didn't." Jaskier turned his head to stare at the surface before pushing up with his tail to swim back to shore. His lower back and abdomen ached with the wriggling movement, still unaccustomed to the effort it took to travel through the water. 

**_"We have had this conversation several times, little lark. You know he loves you so."_ **

"If he loves me so much, why did he yell at me on the mountain? Reminded me of my-" he cut himself off, shaking his head and refocusing on swimming to the surface.

Apparently, it didn't matter if he cut himself off or not because Oaris seemed keen on finishing his statement for him. **_"He reminded you of your parents, did he not?"_**

He let out a frustrated huff. "Yes, Oaris. He did. He reminded me of my dear old father and mother. Are you happy now?" His head broke through the surface of the water, taking in a deep breath of oxygen. He could feel his gills close on the sides of his neck as his windpipe opened back up to his nasal passageway.

 _ **"Would you like to talk about it?"**_ she asked as he swam toward the shore, tail pushing up and down behind him like a sea serpent, blue-green fins gliding over the surface.

"What's there to talk about?" Jaskier reached out with his free hand and pulled himself out of the water, his tail slowly morphing back into his legs. He stumbled a bit, trying to regain control over two limbs instead of one, and made his way toward his pile of clothing.

 _ **"You know, I could just clothe you myself instead of letting you walk bare, my dear,"**_ Oaris reminded him, amusement in her tone. She continued with Jaskier's previous question, **_"and you know what there is to speak about. It is much better to talk about your feelings than to harbor them deep down."_**

Jaskier huffed. "I'm still trying to get accustomed to the whole siren thing. Having the ocean clothe me is a whole bunch of other bullshit I can't be bothered to cope with right now." He gave a long-suffering sigh as he placed the medallion over his neck, the gold circle with the engraved songbird glinting perfectly from the afternoon sun. He quickly dressed. "And no, I really don't want to talk about it. It's been, what, almost twenty-five years since I last saw them? With all hope, they're probably dead by now."

**_"They are not."_ **

Fully clothed, Jaskier dropped himself at the base of the tree and stared out at the lake, a habit he picked up recently whenever he talked to Oaris. "Oh, you just know that?"

**_"Of course I do. They live near my river Adalette, do they not? They are retired. Your cousins have assumed your role as Viscount."_ **

"Fuck them," Jaskier growled, fingers itching to do something. He missed his lute desperately. Anger welled up in his chest, about to burst. "Arses, the whole lot of 'em."

**_"Jaskier, talk to me."_ **

The bard threw his hands up in frustration. "What do you want me to say? They beat me, constantly! I was never enough for them, never did good in their eyes. I was supposed to take over the mantle from my father, but Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, wanted to become a lowly bard instead and _that_...well, that just wouldn't do, would it? So they locked me in my room, starved me, yelled at me, beat me black and blue and even until red streamed down my skin. But nothing they ever did worked, though, did it? Because I _did_ become a bard, I _did_ make a living singing songs, and I did it for _twenty-two years_ until Geralt turned around and sent me back to when I was a child in Kerack."

By the end of his rant, Jaskier was breathing heavily, harsh pants falling from lips and he was sure his face held a tint of red. Even so, he couldn't deny that the well of anger in his chest had subsided, leaving behind only a tired feeling of resignation. He shook his head, too exhausted to muster up any more emotion.

"The past is better left in the past, Oaris," Jaskier muttered, "They did what they did. I can't go back and change that. And maybe, just _maybe_ , I will say Geralt still cares about me - I'll be willing to admit that - _if_ , and only if, he apologizes the next time I see him. Apologizing would mean that he actually regrets it, that he tried to save me on that cliff because he actually cared, not to save himself from his unholy guilt complex."

Oaris chuckled, a tinge of disbelief in her voice. **_"What do you mean his 'unholy guilt complex,' my love?"_**

Jaskier couldn't help his own grin at the sound of his own exaggeration. It sounded wrong and awkward in Oaris's regal and soft tone. "You know how he is. When I traveled with him, everything that happened, it had to be his fault. I got pelted by a few rocks when we were run out of town? His fault. I got scratched by a harpy even though I followed his directions and stayed at the campsite? His fault. I got knocked out by a werewolf after blatantly _disobeying_ his directions to stay at the campsite? His fault. For all we know, he only tried to save me on that cliff because if I fell, he would find it to be his fault."

Oaris hummed before falling silent for a moment. He could practically feel her thinking. **_"Well, is it not his fault?"_**

Jaskier frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

**_"He did yell at you on the mountain. He hurled insults at you, sent you on your way down a treacherous mountain with no one to look after you."_ **

"I had you to protect me, though."

 _ **"Of course you did,"**_ she agreed hastily, quick to dissuade his doubts, **_"but to what extent did Geralt know that? For all he knew, I was a disembodied voice with no tangible ties to this world. All I have ever done before your fall is talk, never act. Did he truly know I would have kept you safe? Like you, he did not know I was the ocean."_**

Jaskier's mouth went dry as the words sunk in. "I...didn't think about it like that."

**_"Do you still blame your fall on him?"_ **

It took a couple of minutes before Jaskier could answer again. He didn't really know how to respond. A large part of him grew angry again, because Oaris was _right_. Geralt had put him in a lot of danger sending him down the mountain alone with monsters lurking about; there was no way he could have known Oaris would protect him. Yet the rest of him - likely the part that remembered the twenty-two years they'd spent together - refused to blame the witcher for his actions on the cliff. For that, Jaskier shook his head.

"No," he said firmly, "I don't. Geralt's words may have hurt, may have cut me deeply, but it would be wrong to blame my decisions on him. Besides, I didn't exactly _plan_ on taking a flying leap off the cliff that night. It just... _happened."_ Jaskier muttered out the last part bitterly. He clenched his fists into the grass below him, dirt scraping beneath his fingernails. "I regret that night. I shouldn't have jumped. It was...not well thought-out."

Jaskier exhaled deeply, a mournful tone in the otherwise peaceful forest. "A split-second of misery and I wiped away the one chance I had left. If I had just _stayed_ in the tavern, taken a moment to eat my dinner and drink my ale, I would have seen him. And I would have been angry, livid, _pissed_. But I wouldn't have been dead, at least not to him. I probably would have yelled, maybe cried, likely would have pushed and shoved at him, but I would've been willing to talk to him."

**_"Are you willing to talk to him now?"_ **

"Yes," he whispered. "I get it now, I think. I'm still hurt, but I think I will continue to be until I get the closure I need from him. But mostly? I think I understand. I jumped because of a last-minute thought, a feeling that only lasted temporarily. Geralt...Geralt snapped at me under the same circumstance. He was angry, hurt by the situation with Yennefer. So he made a last-second decision and lashed out. Geralt's never been good with emotions. How could I expect anything less?"

Oaris made a pleased sound, and Jaskier felt a wave of calm soothe him right after. A content smile made its way onto his face and he leaned his head against the tree behind him, unclenching his hands in the dirt and relaxing.

**_"You have grown, sweet flower."_ **

"It's only been four months since the cliff, Oaris."

 _ **"Perhaps, but you have grown in such a short amount of time, given the situation. You are stronger than you give yourself credit for, kinder than people deserve."**_ Hesitation filled the air between them, but then Oaris sighed softly and said, **_"That is why I believe it is time for you to learn how to Sing."_**

Jaskier raised an eyebrow. "Sing? Uh, I don't know if you noticed, but I'm a bard. Being able to sing is half my job."

Oaris laughed. **_"No, my dear. I do not mean 'sing' in regular terms. To Sing is a siren's skill."_**

"Wait..." Jaskier's blood ran cold. "You mean...you mean the kind of singing you told me can... _drown_ people?"

 _ **"No, of course not, love,"**_ she said quickly, rushing to assure him. She paused. **_"Well, not exactly."_**

"Oaris..." Jaskier said, a warning mixed with apprehension in his tone.

**_"My dear, Singing does not always mean killing. There is more to it. When a siren Sings, they have the ability to Lure. What they do after Luring a person is up to them."_ **

Jaskier tilted his head, soaking it all in. "So...the singing itself isn't really a _weapon-"_

**_"It could be. Sirens can Sing to pitches that can destroy human ears and perhaps even their brain."_ **

"Sirens can make people's heads _explode_?"

**_"If they are loud enough."_ **

"What the _fuck_ ," Jaskier whispered, jaw dropping as he stared wide-eyed at the lake, though his eyes held a far-off look.

**_"Yes, I imagine it is quite dreadful to know-"_ **

"'Dreadful' doesn't begin to cover how horrifying that is, Oaris!"

**_"-however, Luring is not all bad. In fact, it can aid you quite well along your travels."_ **

"Like when?"

**_"When you need to control someone's mind, of course. A thief stole an item from you? Sing and they will return it. A sod in a tavern tossed his ale on your doublet? Sing and he will buy you a new one, muttering apologies all the while. Perhaps a scorned lover with a need for revenge? Sing and you might just bed them."_ **

"I would never bed someone without explicit consent," Jaskier growled.

Oaris chuckled. **_"I know, my dear. It was just an example. Instead, perhaps you could convince them to walk away and return to their home with an apology from yourself."_**

Jaskier shook his head in disbelief. "A siren...can do all of that?"

**_"And more. Let us focus on the basics first, however."_ **

"Right," Jaskier nodded, drawing in a shaky breath, "Yeah, how do we start?"

**_"First, you need your own secret melody."_ **

"What does that mean?"

**_"It is the easiest way for a siren to manipulate another, especially in the beginning of their time. Similarly to how a siren has their own unique voice, they also have a song that is specific to them. This is much more personal, a song that resonates deep within their heart and soul. It has to mean something to them, or it will fail to mean anything to the ones they are attempting to Lure."_ **

Jaskier bit his lip. "So I have to get them to feel the same emotions I do."

**_"The same emotions, but tenfold. Otherwise, it will not be enough to hold their attention."_ **

Letting his head thump against the tree behind him, Jaskier sighed. "What could I possibly sing that would be emotional enough to convince someone to obey my every word?"

**_"Hm. What was your song called? 'Her Sweet Kiss'? That was a very emotional piece, though your melody does not need to be so long."_ **

"Well, yeah, but I doubt that's enough for someone to throw their entire will away." Jaskier huffed. "Besides, I wrote that song for my own indulgence. It feels wrong to use that for gain."

He knew Oaris understood. **_"Do you have any ideas at all?"_**

Jaskier was silent for a moment, letting his eyes lift from the lake and to the meadow around him. For a while, he let himself focus on how the flowers danced with the wind and the sound of the wildlife around him. Before long, a gentle smile crossed over his face. Absentmindedly wrapping his fingers around the medallion hanging from his neck, he nodded.

"Actually, I think I do."

**_"Care to enlighten me?"_ **

Jaskier's smile morphed into a playful grin. "Nope."

 _ **"...No?"**_ He tittered at Oaris's shocked tone.

"Nope. It's a _secret_."

**_"...My sweet one, you are aware that I can read your mind if I so choose, right?"_ **

Jaskier rolled his eyes and let out an indignant puff of air. "Humor me and my right to privacy just this once, will you?"

Oaris laughed. _**"Very well then. I will allow you your secret."**_ She hummed. **_"Though I will say I am very eager to hear your piece."_**

"I'll probably run through it with you anyways when it's done. Just to make sure it'll be enough to, you know, _'Lure'_." 

**_"That would be fun."_ **

"Good," Jaskier said, nodding his head. He closed his eyes, fingers rubbing against the engraved bird. "I'm looking forward to it."

xxxxxxx

**_"Do you have it yet?"_ **

"By the Gods, so _impatient,_ " Jaskier teased, tapping the end of his new quill against his lips as he wracked his brain for the next lyrics to his "secret melody" as Oaris liked to call it. It was almost done after days of scratching out and rewriting words to the same tune playing in his mind. 

He'd managed to find a small town with the guidance of Oaris. It'd been...overwhelming to be surrounded by people again after months of isolation in the forest and waters. Before long, though, he found his balance again. Without his lute and coin purse, he had no steady income, but the village merchants were kind enough that, if he performed a few errands for them, they would give him what he needed. The tasks were simple enough, such as bringing items from one end of the town to the other, so they were more than willing to give him what he asked, even more so when they discovered all he wanted was a quill, ink bottle, and notebook. Once he'd gotten everything he needed, he made his way back to the woods as quickly as possible, searching for the nearest water source.

Which led him to now, by a glistening pond as the sun set. Oaris was feeling generous today - though Jaskier knew she was _always_ generous to him - and decided to spend her time making little ocean sounds in the water instead of peeking into his mind to find what she so desperately wanted to know. It didn't stop her from asking her every half hour or so. If Jaskier didn't know that she was a mystical being, probably equivalent to Melitele, he would have thought her to be a child-aged nymph.

He heard her sigh, and he grinned at the barely-there disappointment in her tone. **_"Very well."_ **

She resumed her small waves in the pond, the rising and crashing of the water soft in his ears. That, combined with the forest sounds around him, emitted a sense of peace over Jaskier's soul. If he was being honest, words were flowing out of him better than he could've ever anticipated.

"I'm almost done, Oaris. I promise. Just the closing lines left."

**_"Good. I look forward to hearing it."_ **

"I know," Jaskier chuckled, "it's all you've been saying for the past three weeks."

Oaris didn't grace him with a response, which was fine. It allowed him to reread his lyrics again, singing them in his mind as he searched for the last rhyme to his song. With a contemplative hum, Jaskier let his quill hover hesitantly over the parchment before sucking in a deep breath, holding it as he wrote the last two lines. Once done, he lifted the quill off the paper and looked back over his work, singing it one last time to himself. He breathed out, a contented sound from the bottom of his lungs like all of his stress had melted away.

"You said it didn't have to be long, right? Just a few lines?"

**_"Yes. Longer songs tend to cause people to become disinterested. Short songs repeated allow the words to better sink into a person's mind. It often takes a few times for one to fully understand the meaning behind a song."_ **

"Okay then," he said, a smile growing on his face. "Then, it's done."

**_"Will I finally be able to hear it now?"_ **

Jaskier laughed. "Yes, Oaris. You can hear it now."

Immediately, the waves in the pond stilled, and he knew he had Oaris's complete attention. He drew in a deep breath before opening his mouth and singing,

 _"Flower, ruined and rotten.  
_ _Broken heart forgotten.  
_ _Blood drips from my stem.  
_ _I'm hurting once again._

 _"Save me from my pain.  
_ _I'm drowning in this rain.  
_ _My death is sure to come,_  
_For I am not the one.  
_ _I'm not his one."_

Jaskier cleared his throat, not fond of how his voice cracked on the last line. Oaris, however, stayed in a stunned silence, mulling over his words. Jaskier shifted uncomfortably on his log, anxious to hear her opinion. Was it good enough? Would it be enough to Lure someone like it was supposed to, pull at a person's emotions enough to surrender their will to him? He clamped down on that thought. He didn't like the idea of controlling a person like that, even though he knew he would never do out of intentional harm. After what seemed like hours, Oaris finally spoke.

 _ **"Jaskier,"**_ she breathed, her voice soft and hardly above a whisper, **_"that...that would most certainly be enough. That was...heartbreakingly beautiful."_**

"Thank you," Jaskier murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm not sure it would be enough, though."

 _ **"I certainly believe so. The song comes from deep in your heart, your hurt."**_ She paused, hesitating. Eventually, she asked, **_"The last line, 'I'm not his one,' that is to mean...?"_**

"Yeah," Jaskier sighed, closing his book now that the ink had dried. He grabbed at his gold medallion. "It's referencing exactly who you think it is."

Oaris hummed thoughtfully. **_"Are you...wanting, Jaskier?"_**

"Not...Not in the way you might think. I..." Jaskier huffed, trying to put his thoughts into words. "I care for him. Deeply. He was my best friend, Oaris. My only friend. And I thought I was his. But he never _listened_. 'Her Sweet Kiss' was written about the dragon hunt. I warned him not to go after her, that he would only end up hurt. I was wrong. We were all hurt in the end."

**_"And, yet, he still chose her over you."_ **

Jaskier slid down the log and onto the forest ground. "Yeah. He still chose her."

**_"Until he chose you, that is."_ **

"And he chose me how?" he scoffed.

**_"Yennefer was not there when he found you at the cliff. No magic of hers clung to him, not even her scent of lilac and gooseberries. It was solely him, Dandelion. Geralt of Rivia came to you of his own volition. He chose you when he could have gone after that mage. He was your last thought before you stepped off that cliff, and you were his."_ **

Jaskier sat silently for a while. He was still hurt, even months after, but it was less so now. Like he had told Oaris three weeks ago, he understood. He knew what Geralt must have been feeling when the one he cared about most slipped through his fingers. Jaskier may not love Geralt the way the witcher loved Yennefer, but he would bet everything he had that the amount he held was more, no matter the form it took.

The truth was...he missed his witcher. He missed Roach. He missed traveling the Continent. He missed being called "The White Wolf's Bard." He missed their jokes, Geralt's almost-there smile, their odd little quirks. He missed sharing a bed when the nights got too cold, and giving Geralt the bigger portion of their dinner when food was running scarce. He missed caring for someone. He missed being cared for.

Because as much as he denied it, Geralt _had_ cared about him. He had to have. Why else would he be so kind to the bard, rather than letting him fend for himself? Geralt made sure he never froze, never starved. He bandaged Jaskier's wounds, tended to him when he fell ill. Geralt always had that _look_ \- a furrowed brow, the slightest downward tilt of his lips, concerned eyes - whenever Jaskier needed help. Geralt had always been there.

"You're right, Oaris." Jaskier turned his gaze to the pond, a determined look on his face.

**_"Oh?"_ **

"I start tomorrow." A decisive nod. "Tomorrow, I look for my idiot witcher."

**_"And what will you do when you find him?"_ **

"Who knows? Yell, probably. Call him an arse. Force him to apologize. Then tell him I forgave him a while ago."

**_"You forget that he believes you to be dead, my love."_ **

Jaskier gave a flippant wave of his hand. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, Oaris. For now, I just needed to figure out how the fuck I'm going to find him."

Oaris laughed at him. **_"You forget that you are a creature of water, Jaskier. Water is everywhere. I am in the air you breathe, beneath the grass you walk on. I run beside you in the river, hover above you in the clouds. There is nowhere in this world I cannot find you. There is nowhere in this world I cannot find your witcher."_**

"You'd help me?" Jaskier asked.

**_"Of course, my dear flower. When you rise in the morn, I will have a location for you, and we shall go to him...together."_ **

Jaskier smiled. "Right. Yeah." He laid himself down on his side and closed his eyes. "Together. I like the sound of that."

_I'm coming, Geralt, you arse...Wait for me._


	7. You Were Good To Me (Geralt's Interlude ll)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Damn you, bard..." he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth. He tried - he tried _so hard_ \- to push back the memories of the bard on the cliff, standing, stepping forward...and...and...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Shit._ I am so sorry for how long it took this chapter to come out. Between family and schoolwork during quarantine, I've had little time to actually write. And when I say this chapter kicked my _ass,_ I mean it nearly killed me. Screw Geralt and his stupid stunted emotions, making it hard for me - an _emotional writer_ \- to suffer. I'm upset.
> 
> But anyways, please heed the following warnings and new tags for this chapter. Your mental health is worth more than a story. Other than that, please enjoy!
> 
> **TW: Self-destructive habits, aggressive behavior, graphic depictions of violence, implied/referenced suicide attempt, indirect self-harm**

_"God only knows where our fears go  
_ _Hearts I've broke, now my tears flow  
_ _You'll see that I'm sorry  
_ _'Cause you were good to me  
_ _You were good to me._ _"_

~ _You Were Good to Me_ , Chelsea Cutler, Jeremy Zucker

xxxxxxx

Geralt snarled as the wyvern dove towards him again. He swung his sword in a wide arc, cutting at the beast's stomach, but its claws managed to catch at his arm, slicing through his armor. He didn't feel pain from the scratch, so he assumed it didn't cut deep enough, but then again, he didn't feel pain as much these days. 

The wyvern shrieked and snapped its jaws at him, attempting to bite at his neck or face. Geralt merely growled as he thrust his sword upwards, near the same spot he'd cut before. In a flurry of limbs and scales, the two tumbled head over heels, slicing and attacking at any opening. Geralt felt the wyvern's tail cut into his leg, but he dismissed it. He at least had half a mind to consume a Golden Oriole beforehand. He supposed today was one of his good days, by his standards.

He didn't have much of those anymore.

With an animalistic roar ripping from his throat, Geralt managed to wrench his arm free from where the wyvern had grasped it in one of its claws, causing deep gouges in his skin from the sharp nails, and shoved his sword deep into the wyvern's neck, blood from his wounds and the monster coating his arm and spraying onto his face. He grunted as he pulled the sword to the side, decapitating the monster only partially. Even so, the wyvern screeched one last time, gurgling on its own blood, before slumping over, unmoving.

Geralt huffed, drawing in harsh breaths as he stood. He cut off the remaining skin and muscle attaching the wyvern's head to its body before sheathing his sword and dragging the head back with him to where he left Roach. He didn't even glimpse at the blood seeping from the wounds on his leg and arm. Golden Oriole still flowed through him, and even though he was safe from the wyvern's poison, he didn't dare drink White Honey to cancel it out. It reminded him of the stain on...

Fuck that.

Geralt snarled to himself, shaking his head. It would do him no good thinking like that. Reminiscing only distracted a person, and witchers couldn't afford distractions. They were a waste of time and would only get him killed. He needed to do better. He needed to _be_ better. He couldn't allow himself to...Witchers didn't have emotions. He was a fool to believe he could.

Stumbling into the campsite, Geralt tossed his belongings aside haphazardly as he searched for the rucksack he usually stuffed monster entrails in, shoving the head in without much care and flinging it to the edge of the campsite. No animal wanted to eat that; it'd be there in the morning. 

From the other side of the clearing, he could feel Roach's judgmental eyes glaring into him as he sunk himself down onto the ground, not bothering to unpack his bedroll. Instead, he opted to inspect his wounds, not that he planned to do anything with them. The scratches on his arm were still bleeding considerably, but the one on his leg had slowed, so it was likely clotted and ready to start healing. Geralt closed his eyes. Distantly, in the back of his mind, he knew he should probably stitch them up _\- "They'll heal better that way, you barbarian. You have enough scars as it is. Stop making them worse."_ \- but he couldn't bring himself to do it. For the longest time, he didn't often have to stitch himself together. He knew _how_ to, of course, it's just that the job was normally taken up by-

By...

Golden eyes flared in the dark of the night. He shouted a snarled _"Fuck!"_ as he slammed his head hard against the tree he leaned himself against, his fist flying out to punch the trunk of the tree beside his as well. He barely felt the pain from either hit, but his vision did black out for a moment from hurting his head. He just blinked the dark spots away from his vision, dropping his head and letting his white hair fall around him like a curtain. Harsh breaths fell from his lips, shoulders heaving up and down with each inhale and exhale. 

"Damn you, bard..." he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth. He tried - he tried _so hard_ \- to push back the memories of the bard on the cliff, standing, stepping forward...and...and...

Geralt growled lowly, shaking his head as though he could shake the memory out of his mind if he tried hard enough. To no avail, though, because he could still remember his old partner moving forward and _he was falling-_

The sound of a twig snapping caught his attention. His head shot up, gold eyes still burning brightly, and he noticed Roach staring in the same direction he was. Footsteps followed the snapped twig, too heavy to be any animal, but too light to be a monster. Nostrils flaring, Geralt sniffed the air, searching for any hint that could identify his intruders. He smelled the distinct odor of sweat, piss, shit, and alcohol. More than that, though, he could hear the thumping and clinking of weapons colliding with their bodies with each step they took, and he knew they had significant coin if the muffled jingling of coins in a velvet purse was anything to go by.

With a barely restrained huff, Geralt stood, grabbing his steel sword from its sheath. He let it dangle by his side, but he kept a firm grip on the hilt as he glared in the direction of where his company was coming from. Judging by the footsteps, there were at least four of them, maybe five. That was fine. He could easily take care of those. His wounds twinged in protest, but he shoved it aside.

Sure enough, four men stumbled into the clearing, but he could hear a fifth one climbing into a tree a few yards away. _An archer_ , he supposed. Their horrid scents hit Geralt like a sucker punch, and he resisted the urge to cover his nose. Instead, he tightened his grip and lifted his head up, practically staring the men down over his nose. Their ragged outfits, weak armor that hardly covered their vital organs, poorly maintained weapons...

_Bandits_ , Geralt concluded with a narrow of his eyes. Just his luck.

"Well, well, well, boys! Look who we have here!" The man in front said, words slurring together. Geralt rolled his eyes. This drunken bastard was the leader? He did _not_ have the patience to put up with this shit.

"Leave," Geralt rumbled, "or I will cut you down."

Any wiser - and _sober_ \- man would have turned tail and run, but not this idiot. No, he merely took a few staggering steps closer, a wimpy and dull dagger hanging loosely in his hands as he carelessly waved them about. "And why would we do _that?_ By the looks of you, you're a _witcher_."

Any normal day, Geralt would have raised an eyebrow, countered that that would be the _exact_ reason why people would run away. But not today. Not when his patience was so frail and his anger so ready to snap. He started to raise his sword.

"I said, _leave,"_ he thundered. "This is your last warning."

The leader simply grinned and readied his pitiful dagger. The men behind him - all equally as drunk - laughed as they pulled out their weapons as well. Geralt could hear the archer in the trees knock an arrow, and Geralt couldn't help the fleeting hope that the dumbass would fall out of the tree and break his neck. The thought didn't last long, though. If the man was going to die, which he _was_ , it was going to be by Geralt's hand, not gravity.

"Get him!" the leader yelled, charging at Geralt with his dagger raised far above his head. 

_Fucking idiot_. Geralt scarcely moved from his spot, a fixed scowl marring his mouth, as he swung his sword, cutting the man's leg off from underneath him. With his scream piercing the night, his companions froze in their spots, their previous smug looks wiped clean from their faces, replaced by pure and unadulterated fear. 

Tears streamed down the bandit leader's face as he glared up at Geralt through pain-filled eyes. Geralt growled lowly in response, before slicing the other man's leg off, then both his arms, before stabbing him several times in the chest. Screams long since died out before he was done, and in another burst of rage, Geralt severed the man's head from his neck in one fell swoop. Blood splurted around him, coating his armor, his sword, and face, mingling in with his preexisting bloodstains, both from himself and from the wyvern. 

His head snapped up, watching as the other bandits slowly retreated, taking careful steps backward as if fleeing from a rabid animal. In the distance, he heard the archer's shaking, the arrow tapping against his bow as his hands trembled in fear. None of them seemed to move.

_Good. Makes it easier to kill them all._ Geralt took a threatening step forward, advancing in the bandits' direction. This one movement alone sent them scattering into the forest. Even the archer tried to slip down from his tree, but his drunken state caused the branches to catch his foot and send him spiraling towards the ground. His choked yell ended with a closely followed _snap!_ of his neck breaking. Geralt let out a dejected huff. He wanted to kill that one.

Geralt could hear their footsteps retreating, running as fast as he could away from him, from the _monster_. He knew he should let them go. The battle was over; he didn't need to fight anymore. He shot a look down at the decimated corpse below him, severed limbs and head spread across the clearing. Rage welled up inside him again as his wounds burned from the fight, his leg suddenly soaked again from the reopened cut. 

With shaking hands that had nothing to do with adrenaline, Geralt craned his head to look at Roach, who stared back at him with saddened and disappointed eyes. A familiar case attached to her saddlebags glared at him accusingly, and Geralt knew he was being absolutely _ridiculous_ , but-

_"If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!"_

He charged after the remaining bandits.

xxxxxxx

Geralt swiped the cloth against his sword with reckless abandon, blood smearing on the blade. He continued his motions, growing more and more aggressive with each stroke. The smell of death clung to his armor and skin, despite having washed himself and his armor in the river already. Even so, he only tried once, but he didn't feel the need to do it again. After coming back from his fight - or what others would call a massacre - he'd untied Roach from her tree and led her to a new clearing.

The body of the bandit leader had started to bloat by the time he returned. 

Now, Roach was munching on fresh grass not far off, but she refused to move anywhere near him. The cold shoulder, he supposed, which was fine. He understood, if only just barely acknowledging it over his ire. He gritted his teeth as he recalled how he slaughtered the other bandits in the same, over-the-top way as the leader. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he was disappointed in himself. For so long, he had worked- 

No.

_The bard_ had worked to wipe the moniker "the Butcher of Blaviken" from people's minds whenever Geralt passed through. This, though, what he had just done, that was not something the "White Wolf" would do. 

If Renfri and Marilka saw him now, they'd recognize the look in his eyes.

If the bard saw him now...

"Damn it!" Geralt roared, tossing his sword with enough force that the blade sunk into the trunk of an adjacent tree. 

Roach's head flew up, ears flicking back and forth, but she snorted impatiently when she realized the noise came from another one of her master's temper tantrums. She dropped her head back down to continue eating. These mood swings happened far too often for her to be concerned anymore.

The gashes on Geralt's arm throbbed, and he shot up from his sitting position, stalking over to his saddlebags. He finally grabbed a salve to treat his wounds, though it was more to rid himself of the annoyance of the pain rather than the pain itself. He deserved to feel pain, deserved to feel the same amount of pain his partner must have felt before he stepped off and-

Geralt's hands flew to his head, and he dug his finger deep into his scalp. His gloves blocked his nails from scratching into his skin, so he resorted to tugging hard at the white strands of hair. He ground his teeth together, eyelids twitching from the force he used to squeeze them shut. He tried to keep that memory from his head. He would do literally anything to forget it. He conjured up memories of Kaer Morhen. He pulled forth past times with Lambert, Eskel, and Vesemir. At least those memories remained untainted from anything to do with Yennefer, the dragon hunt, the djinn, the cliff, and-

"Fuck!" he yelled, voice cracking on that one word in a way he really didn't like. He shouldn't be acting like this; he had no right to. He did what he had done, and he couldn't take it back.

Geralt shook his head desperately. _I should have been faster. I shouldn't have hesitated. He was right fucking there._ He tugged harder at his hair, but the pain in his skin didn't nearly equate to the pain in his chest. _I shouldn't have said those words on the mountain. He didn't deserve it. What did I do?_

He couldn't take it back. He couldn't take _any of it_ back. Witchers could do a lot of things. They could form signs to cast spells, drink potions that would kill humans, slay monsters that could tear them apart with ease, and sense the world around them better than most animals. One thing they couldn't do, the one thing Geralt wished he could do, the one thing he would trade everything he had to do, was to turn back time.

If only he could go back six months ago, take back those terrible words, avoid seeing the bard's heartbroken face, he would. He would do _anything._ He knew he should go to Cintra and claim his Child Surprise, but what good would it do? 

He was shit at emotions, obviously if what happened to his companion showed anything. He couldn't take care of a child, especially without Jas- _the bard_. The bard was so much better at caring and loving than Geralt could ever be. Geralt scoffed lightly at himself. His loving partner had deserved so much better than him.

Geralt's throat burned, but he wouldn't...the cliff had been enough. He wasn't going to do it again. He didn't deserve to wallow in his sorrow, in his self-pity. He deserved no remorse. He deserved nothing in return. 

The Butcher of Blaviken deserved death.

xxxxxxx

Deep down, Geralt knew this hunt wouldn't go well, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He'd killed sirens before, but he made sure he was of a good state of mind before he did it. Being miserable or of any negative feeling only made people more susceptible to falling into a siren's grasp, but fuck it. Geralt had been walking a thin line for months already. Why not push his luck a little further? If destiny was going to be a bitch, so would he.

He walked down the riverbank, toeing the edge where the ground held a two-foot drop before meeting the rushing water. Sirens didn't really lie about rivers too often, but this one was deep, eroding the earth beneath it for decades. Geralt could easily drown here - witcher lungs be damned - if the siren grasped him well enough.

That was fine, he figured as he held his sword limply at his side. He never put his best foot forward in the hunts anymore. There was no reason to, was there? Who would he go back to? Lambert? Eskel? Vesemir? Witchers died all the time. He would just be another mug of ale at the dining table in Kaer Morhen. 

Geralt sighed, ears straining to catch any semblance of humming or a song. Sirens were interesting to hunt down, if not entertaining. Their songs were always different, and Geralt would always try to hear at least one complete set before going off and killing them. The songs always sounded so melancholy, but given how sirens were made, well, he couldn't quite blame them. People often confused rusalkas for sirens, but sirens...they were stronger and prettier. And their _voices_...Geralt would listen all day if he could.

_"Oh, fair soldier, my love,  
Wander not far.  
Hold me ever close,  
Hold me dear to your heart._

_"Cast me not to sea,  
_ _Where water fills my lungs.  
_ _Love me evermore,  
_ _Oh, fair soldier, please."_

Geralt flinched. _There_ , he thought, crouching low to the ground as he neared a riverbend, fog coating the air and hiding the nearby siren from view. Likely, she already knew he was there - either that, or she was just singing her siren's lament just for the hell of it - but he couldn't be too sure. At least, not until he got closer to her claws.

_"Oh, fair soldier, my love,  
Wander not far..."_

Geralt breathed in deeply as her song repeated, mulling the words over in his head. From experience, and what Vesemir had taught him, sirens always sang about their fate, how they became sirens in the first place. He'd encountered a few bizarre stories, some that would have broken his heart had he felt anything beyond anger. This one, though, struck a chord in him, and he didn't like thinking about why.

A soldier, denying his partner's affections and sentencing her to death at sea. That sounded way too fucking familiar.

Shoving the thought from his mind, Geralt thought about downing a potion or two, but he quickly discarded that idea, too. He could take on the siren alone, and if he didn't, well, so be it.

Witcher eyes searching through the fog, Geralt could just barely make out the faintest outline of a boulder sitting half in the river and half-embedded in the riverbank. As he crept closer, he could see a light pink and orange tail flopping lazily. He followed the tail up to see similarly colored wings stretched out behind an otherwise naked woman. Her long, dark hair fell over her dark skin, eyes closed as the gentle melody fell from soft lips. 

_"Cast me not to sea,  
Where water fills my lungs..."_

Geralt cursed under his breath, hand shooting out to steady himself as his body unwittingly leaned forward over the riverbank, nearly toppling over in an effort to get to the beautiful woman. He shot a quick glance at the _monster,_ hoping she hadn't heard him. From what he could tell, she hadn't the faintest clue he was there. Good. Now he just needed to find a way across the river that wouldn't result in too much noise-

A loud snap of tree branches falling grabbed Geralt's attention, his head snapping to beside him just in time to witness a _raccoon_ falling from where the branches must've been weak and scampering deep into the woods. For a moment, his breath caught in his throat and he refocused on the siren's perch.

She was staring right back at him.

_You have got to be fucking kidding me,_ Geralt huffed, bracing himself as the wings unfolded and the monster bared her sharp, jagged teeth at him. All semblance of beauty faded from her face, scaly skin glinting in the reflected light of the fog. She launched herself high in the air before diving towards him. 

"Fuck," he murmured, rising to his feet and holding up his sword to block her incoming attack. Sharp nails clawed his eyes and face, but he used the flat of his sword to push her back, trying to dodge the large wings surrounding him with each downward stroke. 

Geralt quickly signed Aard, the blast sending the siren flying backward and tumbling to the ground. She recovered, however, holding up the top half of her body as she let out an ear-piercing screech. Geralt stumbled away, shoulders raising in an attempt to muffle the sound. He hated that sirens could do that, especially with his enhanced hearing.

Head hunched down to pitifully protect his ears, Geralt sent a blast of Igni at the grounded siren, lighting her wings aflame. Her ear-splitting screech died down into an agonized scream. As she writhed on the ground, Geralt flicked his gaze around him, searching for any other sirens that may have heard their sister's call. Seeing no one in sight, he advanced towards the monster, an aggravated snarl pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

The siren cut off her screams, only to snarl right back at him, another shriek pounding away at his ears. Geralt stumbled back again, closing his eyes in pain and raising his hand to sign Igni once more when the siren suddenly stopped. He opened his eyes to see her grinning, sharp teeth glinting in the night. He hesitated, unsure of why she seemed so proud of herself, when he heard it.

Head snapping back to look upwards, Geralt's grip on his sword tightened as he made out the silhouettes of three new sirens circling above the fog. His gaze focused back on the downed siren, amber eyes shining bright with anger. The grin faded from the monster's face as he threw his sword with all the force he could muster, the blade sinking into her neck and cutting off any sound she could have made. Without fear of another scream incapacitating him, Geralt quickly stalked forward, grabbing the hilt of his sword and decapitating her. He didn't stop there. With a few well-placed and quick strikes of his blade, Geralt did her in in the same way he ended the bandits. He sliced off her arms, tail, and wings, stabbing her a few more times for good measure before her sisters could swoop down and stop them.

Apparently, he was just in time, too, because the fog suddenly parted to make way for a lighter-skinned siren. She dove straight towards him, claws outstretched to swipe at him. Geralt swung in his sword, managing to cut off one of her hands. She shrieked in pain and maneuvered herself away from him, clutching the bloody stump and flying off before he could do any more damage. He was granted no reprieve, however, as another one of the sirens launched herself at him, while the third swooped down from the other side. 

For a while, Geralt found himself caught in a flurry of wings, claws, and shrieks. His armor protected him from most of the hits, but a few scratches managed to embed themselves on his face, scalp, and even through gloved hands. He doubted any of them were deep enough to scar, but having blood drip into his eyes didn't help his situation much either. 

He cast Aard and Igni as much as he could, swinging his sword when he couldn't quite form a sign fast enough. He caught them once or twice, but he hadn't managed to light any of their wings on fire as he had with the first one. Instead, he could tell he was losing this fight, being pushed around and shrieks growing too loud for him to withstand. One siren knocked him to the ground with her tail and, before he could recover, she threw herself on top of him, claws digging into his armor and mouth gaping open to reveal her sharp teeth, eager to bite down on his neck. Geralt took in as deep of a breath as he could. This was fine. He long since accepted this.

Geralt closed his eyes, bracing himself for the bite.

_"Flower, ruined and rotten.  
_ _Broken heart forgotten."_

Geralt's eyes snapped open. The siren above him had closed her mouth, wild eyes searching. Hovering high in the air, the other two sirens seemed confused as well, heads swiveling around as they looked for their fellow siren... _brother?_ Geralt's slow heart came almost to a complete stop. He knew that voice. There was a bit of a haunting, echoing tone underneath, but it sounded almost exactly the same. But it couldn't possibly...

_"Blood drips from my stem.  
_ _I'm hurting once again."_ _  
_

Geralt looked at the sirens again. He must be hallucinating. It couldn't fucking be real. But the sirens...they heard it, too. They could hear that voice, so it couldn't all be in his head, could it? It had to be real. Geralt grit his teeth. But it _couldn't_ be real!

_"Save me from my pain.  
_ _I'm drowning in this rain."_

The siren pinning him down lifted off of him, bringing her large wings in a downstroke to push herself off the ground. She lingered above him with her sisters, hate in her eyes. Each of them looked as if they wanted nothing more to shred him to pieces, especially with the corpse of their fallen sister laying not ten feet away, but the lament continued to wrap around them, enveloping both witcher and monsters in some kind of eerie embrace.

_"My death is sure to come,  
For I am not the one."_

The sirens hissed at him, scowling and enraged, but they flapped their wings harshly and took off into the fog. The distant splashing told Geralt they had eventually dived back into the river, swimming back to wherever it was they came from. He clenched his fist, his own ire building up inside of him. He sat up, glaring down at the decimated siren corpse beside him but eventually getting to his feet. There was still one more siren left, and Geralt did not fucking appreciate its sound.

_"I am not his one..."_

That voice. That _fucking voice_. He knew it. He knew it so well. He knew it like his own, but it wasn't possible. It wasn't fucking possible! That voice had ceased at the same time the bard stepped off that cliff. The bard was _dead_. Geralt watched him fall. This couldn't be possible. This couldn't _be!_

The hand holding his silver sword shook as he searched the water and fog for the last siren. He didn't understand. Men couldn't be sirens, so why was he hearing one? And why did it fucking sound like the one person he desperately wanted to hear again but _couldn't because he was dead?_

Geralt took a step forward towards the river, only to stumble and grunt in pain when a burning sensation laced up his side. Quickly glancing down, he noticed a large tear in his armor, blood seeping from a wound where one of the sirens must have landed a lucky hit. His breath caught in his throat. How had he not noticed?

His vision blurred as he looked back up again at the dense fog. Turning to his left, he saw the silhouette of another figure approaching him, but the singing had stopped. The siren was gone, but...there was another person? What the fuck was happening? How much blood had he lost?

None of this was making _sense._

Geralt growled, his wound burning as he turned to face his new company. He didn't think he was in much shape for another fight - and he wasn't sure he even _wanted_ one - but he would do what he had to. 

The blurriness in his vision began to swallow his sight whole. His legs trembled beneath him, head swimming, before they gave out. His knees collided with the ground harshly, a grunt escaping him as his sword fell from his grasp. His other hand lifted to his wound, pushing down only slightly. He wouldn't survive this. And, again, he found himself okay with that.

Maybe this had all been some sort of hallucination, a dream induced by blood loss. Maybe there was no male siren. Maybe the other sirens just thought he was going to die anyway with the wound in his side, left him to suffer. That song he thought he heard had been haunting, but he had never been one for sweet melodies anyway. Maybe he had just come with it himself in this mysterious scenario. After all, he had spent years alongside a bard. Was it so impractical to believe that he may have picked up a few song-composing skills along the way?

Geralt blinked slowly, eyes blearily searching in the fog as the figure came closer. It was a shame, the fact that this had all been a lie. In some way, he had been hoping it wasn't. It sounded so much like...like...

He huffed to himself. All these months and he still couldn't bring himself to say the bard's name. Fuck it. His past companion didn't deserve to be forgotten.

Jaskier. He missed Jaskier. He would have taken his chances with the male siren, even if it was some kind of mutilated siren-doppler hybrid. So long as he got to hear Jaskier's voice one more time, he would have let himself die at the claws of the monster. He would've died happy. Geralt didn't know where the voice came from or who it was that was approaching him. He didn't care. He was just relieved that, though it had all been a dream, his mind was able to give him one last song by his...his... _his best friend_.

_Jaskier,_ he thought desperately, watching as the dark figure began to come closer, the slightest bits of red coming into view. He narrowed his eyes. That red outfit...

He'd seen that outfit before.

"Geralt?"

Fuck. That voice.

Geralt could pinpoint the exact moment his heart stopped. He took in the messy brown hair and red outfit. That doublet...the last time he'd seen it was on the mountain. Blinking tiredly, Geralt absentmindedly found himself thinking, _And on the cliffside._

"Fuck! Geralt!"

A small smile graced the witcher's face. Damn. All these months, wishing he could hear that concerned tone again. Here it was. It sounded so much like how Jaskier did, too. Was this what it was like to die? Did he really get to see the person he cared about most in the world in his final moments? Who had Jaskier seen before he stepped off that cliff and into the rushing water? Did he see anyone at all?

Firm hands grasped at his arms, holding him up. The smell of seawater crashed through his nose, but that was fine. He was dying. Nothing mattered except the man in front of him. Geralt lifted his eyes and _fuck_...There he was.

Gods, he looked the same. Those eyes were still as blue as the day Geralt met him, his lips just as red. He was thinner, a little gaunt in the face, but Geralt supposed death wasn't the gentlest of beings. The smile never wavered from his face, even as fear and horror began to mar his friend's beautiful features.

"Geralt? Shit. It's okay. You're going to be fine. I'll make sure of it."

Geralt wanted to cry. He swallowed thickly, finding it hard to push his breath past the feeling of his swollen heart in his chest. Life hadn't been good to him since the damned dragon hunt - and it was all his fault, anyway - but he was grateful that his last moments could be so wonderful. 

Raising a trembling hand, Geralt rested it on Jaskier's face, and he didn't have the energy to laugh with joy when it didn't faze through. Instead, it held Jaskier's jaw solidly. All he could do was smile the slightest bit wider as all his relief and happiness poured into one word:

" _Jaskier._ "

That one word seemingly sapped all the remaining energy he had left. His hand slipped from Jaskier's face, and the bard's eyes widened as Geralt slumped forward bonelessly into his chest. Geralt merely hummed softly. If there was anywhere he wanted to die, it was here, in his best friend's arms.

_Best friend_. It felt so good to say. Why had it taken him so long to realize that?

"Fuck! Geralt, no! Stay awake! Stay with me! Oaris, what the fuck do I do?!"

Geralt breathed in deeply. Just underneath all that seawater, he could faintly smell the barest hints of vanilla, chamomile, and lavender. Of all his years of living, this was the best dream he'd ever had. He was dying, but here, in his bard's arms?

He was okay with that.

"Geralt? _Geralt!"_

He was perfectly okay.

"No!"

Oh, the irony.

Geralt of Rivia knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that concludes that. As of right now, I haven't started the next chapter, so I don't know when it's coming out, but I will try my best to get it out to you as soon as possible. If any of you think there is an additional trigger warning that I missed and should add, please let me know! Thank you! I hope you all enjoyed!


	8. Hold on to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier bowed his head to press against his dear friend's forehead. Gods, his heart hurt. For a moment, he could pretend that Geralt really did miss him, that he could still feel the warmth of Geralt's hand resting on his cheek, cradling him in a way the witcher had never done before. For a moment, Jaskier could pretend he was still the human bard that flitted about the dangerous White Wolf, smiling and capturing the hearts of everyone around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS STORY IS NOT ABANDONED!
> 
> I am so sorry for the long wait in updating! Between school, quarantine, and finals, there was either no time to write or I was just completely lacking the motivation. But I have finished school for now, so hopefully, I'll be able to get updates out more regularly. This one is a little...rough, I think, given how it was written over the span of, like, a month and a half and my writing is kinda screwy, but I hope you guys enjoy anyway!
> 
> **Same trigger warnings as before. Heed them. Your mental health is worth more than a story.**

_"Remember, remember,_ _  
__Please remember who I used to be._ _  
__Who am I? Who am I?_ _  
__I'm a puppet in their game._ _  
__They can call us heartless._ _  
__Hollow vessels of what we used to be._ _  
__Don't you forget about me._ _  
__Now commit this to your memories._ _  
__They say that we're nobodies,_ _  
__Only shadows, we're meant to fade._ _  
__But I can't believe that it's true._ _  
__You're a memory I can't lose._ _  
__I'll hold onto you."_

 _~_ _Hold On To You_ _,_ Nathan "Sharp" Smith

~~~~~~~

Jaskier was afraid of a lot of things in life. Well, less so now considering the new, raw power he could feel coursing within him these days, but some fears never truly went away. His parents, for instance. Disdain fueled every fiber of his being when he thought of them, but it didn't stop his hands from shaking at the mere mention of their names. Hell, a few years after he met Geralt, he heard someone call another woman who so happened to share his mother's name and he found himself unable to breathe for a solid five minutes. Jaskier was afraid of a lot of things.

Losing Geralt was one of them.

When Jaskier first proposed going after his witcher to Oaris a couple of weeks ago, all he could feel was determination, resolve. He had long forgiven Geralt, forgave him that night a week after learning he'd become a siren. Though he supposed he had Oaris to thank for that. The talk they'd indulged in by the campfire opened his eyes to his new reality, to a new way of thinking. 

A real shame it hadn't prepared him for _this_.

Jaskier flinched as a harpoon came dangerously close to his face. It glinted in the sunlight that made its way past the water's surface, just barely skimming past the chain that held his medallion. Too close to his neck and too close to severing the most precious thing he had.

 _Silver_ , he thought. He thrust his tail as hard as he could in a downward stroke, propelling himself through the water.

Once upon a time, he'd enjoyed the look and feel of silver. In fact, he liked silver much more than gold. It matched more of his outfits and, despite what his clothing choices may say, he liked that it wasn't too bright to look at. 

Now? Now he _hated_ it.

It reminded him he wasn't human anymore. It reminded him that he couldn't wear his favorite jewelry. It reminded him of what he was and would no longer be. 

At least his medallion was gold. 

He could feel the anger from Oaris's typically calm nature. Of all the people to piss off, these wannabe hunters managed to get on the bad side of a siren and a water goddess.

Oaris was _seething_.

 **_"How dare they?"_ ** she snarled, her voice crashing over him like waves against rocks during a violent storm. She created a riptide for Jaskier to swim alongside, effectively carrying him swiftly away from the hunters and their silver weapons.

**_"They dare to attack you in my own river?"_ **

Jaskier could have killed them. He knew a bit about Singing and shrieking now. They'd been practicing and, once, he managed to summon another siren. She had looked at him with an odd look in her eyes, and he'd felt a flicker of fear go through him. Oaris merely chuckled and told him about how sirens used to be solitary creatures, but after people started sending more and more witchers after them, they started to learn how to work together. The siren had simply responded to his melody, thinking he might have needed help, but she soon left once she realized he didn't need her at all.

Jaskier sighed, bubbles forming at the corners of his mouth as he flicked his tail up and down behind him. With the riptide pushing him forward, there wasn't much need to swim, but any amount of speed to further him from the damn silver harpoons was welcome. 

"It is what it is, Oaris," he muttered, trying to push down the swell of sadness building in his chest. "I'm a monster now. Monsters kill humans and are killed by silver. They were doing what Geralt and I would have done."

He could feel Oaris bristle at the implications. **_"You are not a monster, not in the way humans describe. You are a siren, but you are still my Jaskier."_ **

"Of course, and I know that, but to other people, I'm another bloodthirsty mongrel that desires nothing more than to lure sailors to their deaths. Serves me right for practicing near a coastal village. They _hate_ sirens here."

 **_"I should have warned you,"_ ** Oaris whispered. **_"You do not deserve this."_ **

Jaskier shrugged the best he could while swimming at breakneck speed. "Not your fault. You didn't send them after me. That was their choice. Now all I have to do is just continue on my way to Geralt. No harm, no foul."

 **_"I suppose,"_ ** Oaris conceded, but Jaskier could still hear the guilt in her soft voice. He let it go, not sure how to comfort a goddess.

He decided to simply change the subject. "Well, moving on from our impromptu escapade - not that it wasn't thrilling, mind you - you said you found Geralt?"

Oaris hummed. **_"Yes. He is not far. I would say about a few hours travel."_ **

"Good..." Jaskier nodded, a smile growing on his face. "That's great! Hopefully, he's in a condition that I can successfully yell at and berate him without being concerned."

A pause followed, and an air of hesitancy came from Oaris's side of their telepathic link. **_"Right...Yes, of course."_ **

The smile on Jaskier's face quickly gave way to a deep frown. "Oaris, what was that?"

**_"What was what?"_ **

"That...hesitancy. Why did you pause?"

**_"I...do not understand."_ **

"What are you hiding from me?" Jaskier demanded, his tone brooking no room for an argument. His heart skipped a beat. Holy shit, he was arguing with a water goddess.

Thankfully, Oaris didn't seem to mind. **_"Well..."_ ** she sighed. **_"You should hurry, Jaskier."_ **

If Jaskier's heart had skipped a beat before, it definitely wasn't working now. Sucking in a sharp breath, Jaskier picked up his swimming, soaring in the riptide as he surged in the direction of Geralt. He didn't know what Oaris meant, wasn't sure he _wanted_ to know, but Melitele be damned, he did _not_ spend these months worrying over his witcher to lose him now. One hand came to his medallion and clutched it tightly.

Fuck that.

~~~~~~~

The burn in his abdomen and lower back normally tired him out, but now it was the drive that kept him going. The pain reminded him of how urgent this situation was. Normally, he would have paused, let himself rest when the discomfort got to be too much for him, so the fact that he pushed through it reminded him that he couldn't afford to slow down. Geralt needed him. He didn't know why - Oaris didn't seem open to tell him, for one reason or another - but it didn't negate the fact that Geralt, a strong and experienced witcher, was in enough trouble to worry his goddess companion.

Jaskier gritted his teeth and resolutely pushed himself to go faster when the aching tried to grow unbearable. He wouldn't let a little pain stop him from saving his witcher, not when they had too much left unsaid. Hell, not even when all was talked through and forgiven. Life would not take his witcher, not when Jaskier had a say in it.

"Oaris, how far away?" he grunted, bypassing a hover of rainbow trout without a glance. Normally, he would've floated in his spot and admired their glinting scales for a moment, but he didn't have time for that. Not now.

**_"You are very close."_ **

"That doesn't really answer the question," Jaskier growled, already thoroughly annoyed with Oaris's hesitancy on Geralt's predicament. He really wasn't in the mood for her cryptic answers.

**_"You will know when you are near. You will hear it."_ **

If he could, Jaskier would have thrown his hands up in frustration. Alas, he could not, so he settled for snapping at her. "Must you respond with such enigmatic answers? Honestly, now is not the fucking time to act mysterious, Oaris!"

Oaris fell quiet.

"I truly don't understand!" Jaskier continued, bright eyes glowing as the river grew darker from the fog approaching overhead. "For, what, seven months, you've been trying to push me towards Geralt, and now you won't even tell me what's wrong, only saying that I 'should hurry.' What does that mean? What am I hurrying to? What situation am I about to throw myself into the midst of?"

Much to Jaskier's ire, Oaris stayed silent for a few moments longer. Eventually, in a soft voice, she whispered, **_"I love you dearly, Dandelion, but I also protect other creatures of the water. I cannot betray them."_ **

Jaskier let out a disbelieving laugh as the realization dawned on him. "You...You can't...Are you _kidding_ right now? You're telling me that you refuse to say Geralt is being attacked by water monsters? What sense does that make?"

**_"I know what you will do when you find them."_ **

"What, kill them?" Jaskier scoffed. "As if I could if I tried. I'm only just barely learning how to control my powers. Killing other water monsters that have been around longer than I have is _not_ in the plans, Oaris. You should know that, what with the whole 'knowing my soul' thing you like to go on about constantly."

**_"I am sorry, my love, but there are lines that even I cannot cross. When you approach them, you must figure out your plan yourself."_ **

"So after all we've been through, you're just going to leave me high and dry?"

**_"You will be okay. I have faith in you."_ **

Jaskier didn't bother arguing back; he felt Oaris's presence leave him immediately after speaking. He huffed. _So much for always staying by my side,_ he thought bitterly, not caring that she most likely heard him.

His mouth thinned as his eyes glinted in the darkness. The fog was growing thicker now, the water turning so dark he would have believed it to be near midnight if it hadn't been late afternoon a few moments ago. Without Oaris, he had to be more careful, so he tuned his ears to the world around him, listening closely as his blue, torch-like eyes shifted side to side. Only when he began to focus did a shiver run up his spine.

It was quiet. Eerily quiet.

Normally, even beneath the surface, Jaskier could hear the wind above him or distant wildlife, though a bit muffled. He would hear his tail lifting up and down, parting the water behind him, or at least the bubbles from his gills and the sea creatures around him. Now, he heard nothing, and he didn't like it. His heart yelled at him to speed up, to continue his rapid pace down the river to get to Geralt, but he begrudgingly shook that feeling away. He wouldn't be any good to Geralt if he rushed into this situation and ended up dead. 

With a deep breath, Jaskier swam to the riverbank and hauled himself out of the water. Oaris must've still been around because, instead of appearing naked on the side of the river, the water followed him upwards before pouring down his body and leaving the same red doublet he had been wearing since the dragon hunt in its wake. A feeble thought in the back of his mind reminded him that he really needed to buy a new outfit as soon as he obtained enough coin, but it wasn't loud enough to drown out the urgency and worry in his chest. 

Jaskier stumbled forward, legs acclimating to being on land as he kept his head on a swivel, eyes and ears open to everything he could sense. He kept a steady pace, just barely finding the restraint to run forward and tear the forest apart in search of Geralt. For what felt like hours, he heard nothing, but then shrieks and screams pierced his ears. His heart stuttered to a stop, and he suddenly realized why Oaris hadn't been forthcoming with him.

_Fuck. Sirens._

Jaskier had hoped he wouldn't have to fight one of his own kind for a while. Even while traveling with Geralt, running into sirens were rare, far and few between. It didn't help that sirens were a dying species, but from what he could tell, it sounded like Geralt managed to surround himself with quite a handful. 

He swallowed thickly. How was he going to go about this? He certainly couldn't take all of them on his own. Narrowing his eyes, Jaskier tried to see farther ahead, thankful that his eyes were back to normal so that the light didn't reflect back at him, but the fog was too thick to see clearly through. He let out a frustrated huff and tried to recall what Oaris had told him about sirens. When the siren he’d accidentally summoned by his Singing eventually left, Oaris had explained that his song was the primary way of communicating for sirens, except that whenever they sang, they put their true intentions behind it. They could communicate any feeling with the same sad song retelling their death.

So, hypothetically, if Jaskier sang his melody with the intention of having them leave Geralt alone instead of looking to drown some humans, then maybe...just maybe...

It was worth a shot, right?

Jaskier tucked away his medallion into his shirt, not wanting to lose it should he actually have to fight. He breathed in deeply and tried to put all his heart into his voice, not above begging to his siren sisters.

 _"Flower, ruined and rotten._ _  
__Broken heart forgotten._ _  
__Blood drips from my stem._ _  
__I'm hurting once again."_

The song came to him naturally nowadays. He'd practiced it so much, it became a part of him like "Toss a Coin" was. This time, though, instead of the rehearsed melancholic sound, Jaskier's voice dripped with fear, desperation, and love. He was so close to Geralt, after so many months of hurting and regret. He couldn't lose him now.

 _"Please,"_ his song said, _"Please, don't take my witcher. I'm sorry, dear sisters, for the hurt he may have caused you. He has hurt me, too, but he is my friend. So please, do not take him from me."_

 _"For I am not his one..."_ Jaskier let his voice drift off, opening eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed. The screams and shrieks died down, but Jaskier didn't dare move. He braced himself, ready for a flurry of vexed sirens to fly at him. 

Nothing came.

Then, his eyes caught on the faint outline of three figures above him. Red, green, and yellow tails circled high in the air, but not close enough that he could truly make out the sirens' faces. Blood dripped on the ground a few feet away from him, so he assumed Geralt must have wounded one of them fairly bad. Still, the sirens didn't swoop down and attack him. A soft voice echoed to him.

 _"Love me evermore,_ _  
__Oh, fair soldier, please."_

Somehow, Jaskier knew that song didn't belong to any of the sirens above him. Something tinged in her voice sounded just the slightest bit sour, as if the words didn't belong in her mouth, but as new to being a siren as he was, Jaskier understood what his sisters were trying to tell him.

_"One of our sisters is dead not far ahead. She felt a similar pain to you, and yet she was slain not once, but twice. The second being by your friend's hand. Do not let the same fate befall onto you."_

Jaskier swallowed thickly, nodding his head even though the sirens likely couldn't see it. Once the message was delivered, the colors above him disappeared, and the forest was silent once more, aside from faint gasping that tore at Jaskier's heart. With a deep breath, and the danger gone, Jaskier started back up his rush to Geralt's side, moving quicker than he had been before. 

"Geralt?" he called out, a dull shape taking place amidst the fog. He sped up his pace to the verge of running, only to stumble when he saw the condition his witcher was in.

"Fuck! Geralt!"

He witnessed a smile cross Geralt's pale and bloodstained lips because _of fucking course_ he would finally smile as he lay dying. The bastard could never smile when Jaskier had been traveling with him. No, he had to do it while bleeding out next to a river.

Jaskier practically dove at him, hands grasping at Geralt's arms, supporting his weight when it became clear Geralt couldn't. His eyes surveyed Geralt's form, taking in the gash tearing apart his witcher's side, blood soaking through a hand that was held limply over the wound. The fucker wasn't even trying to keep himself alive! Why didn't he have potions on him? Fear and horror swelled up in Jaskier's chest, but that damned smile still hadn't left Geralt's face!

"Geralt? Shit. It's okay. You're going to be fine. I'll make sure of it."

Geralt lifted a shaking hand - Geralt's hands never shook, not even when he was badly injured, so why the _fuck_ was it shaking now? - and Jaskier's breath hitched when the witcher rested it on his cheek. For a moment, time stood still, and all Jaskier could do was stare desperately at his dying friend. Finally, Geralt opened his mouth, but all that came out through bloodied teeth was, _"Jaskier."_

Jaskier's heart skipped a beat at the pure, unadulterated relief and happiness poured into his name. Memories of the djinn and _"Jaskier, you're okay,"_ flooded his mind, but he quickly wiped that away. Now wasn't the time.

Especially not when Geralt's hand slipped from his face and the witcher slumped over into Jaskier's chest. A soft hum reached the siren's ears as Geralt's eyes slipped closed.

"Fuck! Geralt, no! Stay awake! Stay with me!" Jaskier sobbed, tears he hadn't noticed were brewing streaming down his face. His voice cracked and was on the cusp of hysterical yelling. Without much thought, Jaskier called out, "Oaris, what the fuck do I do?!"

 ** _"My love, I am here. I am here,"_** Oaris responded, her own voice desperate for Jaskier to calm down and acknowledge that he was not alone. He barely registered her voice as he heard Geralt breathe in a deep inhale.

"Geralt? _Geralt!"_

The witcher didn't even twitch. Jaskier sucked in a sharp breath.

"No!"

Unwanted memories of the cliff flashed back to him. The irony was cruel. He never wanted their positions to be reversed like this. 

"Oaris, please. Please! What do I do? How can I help him?!"

**_"The river, Jaskier. Bring him into the river."_ **

He didn't dare argue. Slipping his hands under Geralt's arms, Jaskier all but hauled his friend with him into the water. Once in the river, it was much easier to hold all of Geralt's weight, though he suspected Oaris was also aiding in guiding him.

"What do I do now?"

 **_"You need to take your siren form,"_ ** Oaris replied, already divesting him of his doublet and dumping his clothes unceremoniously on the riverbank. Once unclothed, Jaskier immediately shifted his focus into taking his siren form. The familiar feeling of his legs binding together to form his tail was a slight comfort to him, and he hardly took note of his sharper nails and glinting scales.

**_"Now sing to him."_ **

Now, Jaskier argued. "But my song. It's made to kill."

**_"It is made to do a lot of things. It is also made to heal. Small steps, child. It would be unwise to burden you with all the abilities of a siren at once."_ **

"So you've said," Jaskier grumbled, but he sucked in a deep breath anyway before letting his mouth fall open, the lyrics of his melody drifting around him like the ebbs and flows of the ocean. The words reached out to him, pulled at his soul, before falling away, lingering just ahead of him where Geralt barely floated in the river, Jaskier’s bird medallion a sharp contrast to Geralt’s pale skin as it drifted next to his face. 

_"I'm hurting once again..."_ A light blue glow, barely visible to the naked eye, surrounded Geralt, particularly darkening around his gaping wound. As the lyrics fell from Jaskier's lips, Geralt's body began to mend itself together, much faster than the witcher's typical healing abilities allowed. Jaskier's arms shook, though not from the strain of holding his dear friend. 

Relief coursed through him. By the Gods, he wanted nothing more than to drop to his knees and sob in pure happiness. This hadn't been the meeting he'd imagined these past few months. He'd expected to find Geralt sitting in a clearing with Roach, probably crying and lamenting loudly about how much he missed Jaskier and how lost he was without him, before Jaskier would swing in, alive and well, and started yelling at him about how much of an idiot he was. He would let Geralt grovel and beg for his forgiveness before laughing and saying how he was already forgiven before apologizing himself for taking his life in front of Geralt's very own eyes. The two would hug and rejoice and continue on the Path like the old days.

Or something like that. Jaskier might have been exaggerating a bit.

This, though. This wasn't what he wanted. If Jaskier thought about it, and he had more than enough time to as he watched Geralt's body stitch back together, he could see how careless his witcher had been. Looking down at Geralt's peaceful face, Jaskier noted the lack of black veins and unnatural paleness, combined with the absence of potion bottles on his person. The idiot hadn't downed a potion before charging into a fight with a damn _siren_. Geralt used to warn him all the time about how dangerous these creatures were...about how dangerous he was now.

_"Never underestimate a siren, bard. They'll lure you in and tear you apart in seconds."_

Jaskier shook away the rising feeling of disgust in his chest. Now was not the time to think about his new life. The only thing that mattered was the precious cargo in his arms, who was starting to regain a little bit of color in his face.

"Oaris?" 

**_"I am here."_ **

He put aside any anger he harbored towards her for the time being. Geralt was more important than his ire right now. "Is he going to be okay?"

**_"He will be. His wound is nearly healed, but he will be tired. His campsite and mare are not far. You should be able to allow him to rest here while you collect his things."_ **

Channeling his inner Geralt, Jaskier replied with a "hm" and continued to float with the witcher in his arms. Letting one hand drift to Geralt's face, Jaskier let his fingers linger over the dark bags underneath Geralt's eyes. A soft, resigned sigh fell from his lips. It's like Jaskier's time with him taught him nothing. The moment Jaskier was gone - _dead_ \- Geralt fell back into old, bad habits, throwing himself into a life without care or self-preservation. 

Well, Jaskier would have to fix that, wouldn't he?

...If Geralt accepted him back, that is.

Jaskier wasn't stupid. _Far_ from it. He was a highly educated man, who also spent over twenty years on the road with a witcher, learning all there is to know about the Continent and its creatures. He learned the way the world works, and one of the biggest rules is that witchers kill monsters. Sirens were monsters, no matter how much Oaris tried to convince him otherwise. Geralt killed sirens. He killed things like Jaskier. Because Jaskier wasn't human. Not anymore.

Jaskier bowed his head to press against his dear friend's forehead. Gods, his heart hurt. For a moment, he could pretend that Geralt really did miss him, that he could still feel the warmth of Geralt's hand resting on his cheek, cradling him in a way the witcher had never done before. For a moment, Jaskier could pretend he was still the human bard that flitted about the dangerous White Wolf, smiling and capturing the hearts of everyone around him.

He pretended because he knew he wasn't any of that anymore. He wasn't the same Jaskier Geralt knew. He wasn't the same Jaskier who traveled with Geralt for twenty-two years, regaling tales of Geralt's exploits. He wasn't the same Jaskier who had his heart broken on King Niedamir's mountains. No. That Jaskier died on winter's darkest night when he took the last step off a cliff and plunged to the ocean's deepest depths, where light couldn't reach him and his body could never be recovered.

He was a monster now. A _thing_. It _._ He was written in bestiaries with his weaknesses printed in ink, on open display for all to read and know. He was exactly that: a _beast_ , an _animal_ , a _creature_. He was a _witcher's prey._ Blood like his had coated Geralt's silver sword many times before.

He was _disgusting_.

 **_“My dear,”_ ** Oaris called softly. Jaskier had no doubt she heard all his inner musings and felt a spark of gratitude that she’d ignored it, at least for the time being. **_“He is healed now. You can remove him from the river.”_ **

Jaskier nodded. He wanted to say nothing, to be the slightest bit petty, but despite how Oaris had withheld information from him earlier, she _did_ help him save Geralt’s life. “Thank you, Oaris.”

 **_“Of course,”_ ** she replied, but her voice was quiet, almost timid, something a goddess’s voice should never sound like. It almost made Jaskier uncomfortable that he held such an important role in this deity’s life. He waved that thought from his head. Now wasn’t the time.

Jaskier swam back to the shoreline, Geralt safely ensconced in his scaly arms. He gently heaved the witcher up onto the riverbank, pulling himself up after. The water seemingly followed him up, dressing him in his clothes once more. With a grunt, Jaskier pulled Geralt up and made his way to the treeline. He propped his friend against a tree, fixing Geralt’s head so his neck wouldn’t hurt too much when he woke, before humming as he looked around the river. The fog was starting to clear, but even so, Jaskier couldn’t find Roach anywhere. 

_Odd_ , he mused, _Oaris said she was nearby_.

**_“The mare is about a half-mile away near a campsite belonging to Geralt, presumably.”_ **

A tug in his chest attempted to pull Jaskier deep inside the woods. He huffed. _Of course_ Geralt would leave Roach that far away. Jaskier shot a glance at the unconscious witcher and then the forest, wondering if he should leave Geralt to grab Roach and pack the rest of the campsite. He didn’t want to leave Geralt undefended and certainly didn’t want to be gone when the witcher eventually woke.

**_“I will protect Geralt while you retrieve the mare and his things.”_ **

“You would do that?” Jaskier asked. As far as he knew, Oaris might have helped him save Geralt’s life, but she owed him nothing right about now. 

**_“Of course I would.”_ ** Oaris hesitated before sighing. **_“I know my reasons are...unclear to you. I will explain them soon enough. Now, however, is not the time. We will continue this conversation later, yes?”_ **

Jaskier breathed in deeply. He could work with that. They had more important things to do, and he understood. “Okay.”

Rising to his feet, Jaskier took one last glance at his sleeping witcher before heading in the direction Oaris tugged him to. He let quick feet carry him over roots and rocks, months of living in the forest making navigation much easier than before. He intended on being back before Geralt awoke, and he most certainly would be.

~~~~~~~

Jaskier had been excited to see Geralt again - he truly had, even if the witcher nearly died in his arms - but the way his heart leaped at the sight of Roach was an entirely new feeling. 

At the sight of the chestnut mare grazing in the clearing Geralt had found for himself, Jaskier couldn’t help the cheerful “Roach!” that blurted out from between his lips. The mare raised her head at the sound of her name and shook her neck, hooves stamping in eagerness as she caught Jaskier’s figure entering the clearing. Leaping over Geralt’s stuff, which was a lot less than Jaskier remembered it being, he threw his arms around Roach’s mane and hugged tightly.

“Oh, my love! I have missed you so much!” The last time he’d seen her was almost a year ago, when he left the foot of the mountains. He remembered how she tried to follow him, how it broke his heart to leave her behind. This reunion, though, cleared an ache in his heart, a laugh bubbling out of his chest as she nudged him for the sugar cubes he normally fed her.

“Sorry, girl. I don’t have any on me right now, but I will grab some as soon as I can!”

 _If I’m still around, that is_. 

Jaskier shook the morbid thought from his head and let go of Roach in favor of letting his eyes wander around the measly campsite. Jaskier frowned.

“Is it just me, Roach, or has Geralt really slimmed down on his camping supplies?”

There was no bedroll laid out, and Jaskier couldn’t find the beginnings of a campfire anywhere. Geralt’s bags were thrown haphazardly around the clearing, as if the man couldn’t be bothered to simply prop them up against a tree like normal. Jaskier wondered how many potion bottles had broken at the blatant mistreatment. He hummed, turning back to Roach, when he saw it. His heart stopped.

There was one bag placed carefully against a tree, the most delicately handled by the looks of it. It had been placed by Roach’s side, like Geralt expected the mare to protect it at all costs. Jaskier swallowed thickly. The shape of the bag, the size of it, the color...he knew that bag anywhere, and he knew it wasn’t really a _bag_.

With shaking hands and a lump in his throat, Jaskier reached out and traced the familiar shape. He gently pulled it open, and there it was. A sharp breath escaped through slightly parted lips as Jaskier’s fingers lightly ran over polished Elven wood, mapping out the intricate details carved so carefully. He plucked at the strings, discordant notes reaching his ears from spending so long out of tune. It couldn’t be...Had Geralt really…?

Jaskier lifted the otherwise well-maintained lute out of the case, cradling it against his chest, moving slowly as if he were afraid it would crumble to dust in his hands. Filvandrel’s lute. _His_ lute. After so many months, after leaving it propped up against a tree in the middle of winter, after abandoning it for a step off the side of a cliff...it was here, in his arms, fitting into his grasp as though it had never left. 

It didn’t matter how long it had been. Skilled fingers made their way across the neck, turning the tuning pegs with purpose, gently plucking at the strings. It took a couple moments but eventually, Jaskier let muscle memory do its work, and he played a few scales for Roach and the forest around him. The sound echoed beautifully in his ears, and he closed his eyes, letting the notes flow through him. Never did he think he would hold this lute again, hold any lute at all. He may pass as a human, but he wasn’t anymore, and he’d thought his days of a bard were long gone. But with this lute in his hands, and maybe even the newfound power in his voice, perhaps he could try it again.

If Geralt let him live.

Jaskier cleared his throat and placed the lute back into its case with a tenderness he hadn’t displayed in a long time. Hell, he left his songbook in the river with Oaris most days. His lute, though, that was something he’d never throw into water at any random moment, Oaris’s protection or not. Jaskier was sure that if, for some reason, he threw his lute in the water, Oaris would refuse to let any damage come to it like that bird medallion pressed between his shirt and chest, but it was more of the principle than anything else. Never again would he so unfairly treat his precious lute with such disrespect. Sure, he had left it in the case that night, artfully leaning against a safe tree, but he had abandoned it. He might have abandoned it to avoid tainting it with his selfish decisions, but it didn’t change the fact that he had thrown his main source of happiness and life away without much of a second thought.

Jaskier stood on unsteady legs, slinging the lute case strap over his shoulder. The familiar weight rested against his back, and a watery laugh escaped him as his eyes welled up. Never again did he think he would see his lute again. Gods...if Geralt hadn’t had forgiveness before, he definitely had it now.

The shock still followed him as he packed up Geralt’s meager belongings. He couldn’t believe Geralt had kept his lute. As far as he knew, Geralt hated it, hated the music Jaskier used to constantly play. Why would he keep it? Why didn’t he just leave at the cliffside? What use would he have gotten out of it with no bard to play?

Eventually, the shock fell away into growing concern. Geralt’s bags were light, _too_ light. At first, Jaskier had worried that potion bottles might have broken given how haphazardly the bags were thrown about, but he soon came to realize that there were no potion bottles to break. Jaskier knew Geralt would run low sometimes, but he would _never_ let his supply dwindle into _nothing._ Every once in a while, Geralt would run out of Swallow, but he would have medical supplies to patch himself up. Jaskier didn’t see a single bandage or salve in sight.

“What the _fuck,_ Geralt?” he murmured, a disbelieving scoff echoing in his words. Geralt could be self-sacrificing, but he wasn’t _suicidal_...was he?

Jaskier snorted. No. Geralt had his moments, but the man always allowed himself the basics of self-care. His hands faltered. But this didn’t add up…

“You’ll just ask him about it later, Jaskier,” he muttered to himself. “He’ll wake up, you’ll probably cry, make sure he’s okay, and then you’ll find out what the hell happened here.”

_Because none of this is acceptable._

Once Jaskier finished tidying up the campsite and attaching bags to Roach’s tack, he carefully led her by the reins to where he left Geralt. Hopefully, Oaris kept true to her word and protected Geralt. Jaskier knew she would, but the disagreement earlier rang through his mind and he just couldn’t help but wonder. 

**_“Jaskier,”_ ** she greeted as he approached the river, **_“I see you have found the lovely Roach.”_ **

Jaskier couldn’t hide his smile. Even the water goddess was smitten with Geralt’s honorable mare. “I did.” His eyes flickered to the still unconscious witcher, smile giving way to worry. “How is he?”

Oaris hummed. **_“He is fine, for the most part. His body is tired. He has never been healed by water magic before. His body is growing accustomed to it.”_ ** At Jaskier’s silence, she continued, voice soft, **_“My love, he will awaken soon. I assure you of that.”_ **

“I know,” Jaskier sighed, letting go of Roach’s reins and removing her tack so she could drink from the river. Once done, he sat at the riverbank but kept Geralt in his peripheral vision, searching for any movement. He inhaled deeply, gathering his nerves, before asking,

“Can we talk about it now?”

 **_“Yes,”_ ** Oaris answered, though her voice was solemn, **_“we can.”_ **

Jaskier rubbed his right ring finger with his left hand, a nervous tic Geralt raised an eyebrow to often when they traveled together. “What happened back there? One moment you were all for me finding Geralt. The next, you were being all cryptic and detached. Why?”

Oaris sighed, a sad sound in Jaskier’s ears. **_“My dear, I care for you more than you could ever know. You have always loved me, more so than any human or monster ever has before. You have sung me private songs, have written poems alongside my waves, have let me cradle you since you were but a newborn babe...but there are limits to how far I can protect you._ **

**_“Creatures of water are not just creatures; they are my children, too. If you are battling a kikimore, I can help you. Those monsters are land monsters that bathe in my waters every now and again. Griffins and dragons are sky creatures. Nymphs and fae belong to the forests. However, rusalkas, selkies, kelpies, and, yes, sirens are water creatures. Therefore, they are under my protection as well. I cannot choose favorites, though I think we both know whom I adore the most.”_ **

Oaris sighed. **_“No matter my love for you, there are boundaries I cannot cross. I cannot tell you how to kill water monsters, how to destroy them, or exploit their weaknesses. They are my offspring, too, Dandelion. I am sorry. I should have been clearer about that before.”_ **

Jaskier took a moment, mulling over Oaris’s speech. It made sense, he supposed. He could understand why Oaris had done what she had. Now that Jaskier thought about it, though, he realized that perhaps he had overreacted a tad bit. Sure, she hadn’t warned him about the sirens, but now he knew the reason why and he had made it out safe after all. And Oaris _did_ do most of the work in finding Geralt. The _least_ he could do was fight his own battles. It was frustrating she hadn’t told in the first place, of course, but she gave him a reasonable explanation, and she had never given him a reason to doubt her before so…

“Okay.”

**_“...Okay?”_ **

Jaskier shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong, your communications skills are little lacking but-” Jaskier shot a fond look over at Geralt’s unconscious form - “I’ve had my fair experiences with that.” He gave a short hum. “I get it, Oaris. I get not wanting to betray your children, despite, you know, the fact that your children are, well, _monsters_ , and I usually travel with a _witcher,_ but I can respect that. So long as you are okay with knowing that I may have to kill some of them at some point.”

**_“I understand that. It is not my responsibility to stop any fight that regards my offspring. I just cannot betray them.”_ **

“So…are we okay then?”

Oaris chuckled. **_“I believe that, my dear, is something I should be asking you, but, yes, we are okay.”_ **

Jaskier smiled at the river warmly, eyes softening as he rubbed the medallion around his neck. “Good.”

**_“Yes. Just in time, too. Your witcher is waking.”_ **

“What?” Jaskier jumped to his feet, whirling around to see Geralt blinking open his eyes slowly, a soft groan falling from his lips. 

Jaskier all but ran to his witcher’s side, sliding on his knees, uncaring of the dirt marring his already filthy trousers. His hands hovered but never touched, unsure if Geralt would ever want him to touch him once he knew what Jaskier was. If Geralt’s reaction when Jaskier found him hadn’t spoken loud enough, the keeping of his lute did. Jaskier knew Geralt missed him - or at least, the old version of him - but the bard Jaskier and the siren Jaskier were two different people. One was a dainty human. The other was... he was a horrid monster.

“Geralt?” he called quietly, a relieved sigh lingering in his voice. 

Geralt carefully lifted his head up, blearily looking at Jaskier but not really seeing. A hand lifted from where Jaskier had placed them in Geralt’s lap and drifted to his side, where his injury had been. He raised the hand to his face, and Jaskier could see the confusion when Geralt noted the lack of blood.

“What…?” Geralt mumbled.

Jaskier let out a soft laugh and gently took Geralt’s hand into his own, pointedly ignoring how his hands shook. “You’re healed. You took quite a nasty hit from those sirens, but I treated the wound. You’re okay.”

At the sound of his voice, Geralt turned his attention back to him, amber eyes searching Jaskier’s blue, the haziness clearing and giving way to disbelief. 

“Jaskier?” he whispered, voice cracking between syllables. Jaskier’s name fell from his lips with emotion clinging to every letter, an auditory apparition of Geralt’s heart hovering between them.

Jaskier seized it, pressing a delicate hand to Geralt’s too-pale, too-gaunt face. The witcher leaned into the touch as Jaskier stroked just above his cheekbone, a soft smile making its way onto Jaskier’s face.

“Yes, dear heart. It’s me,” he answered, voice barely above a whisper.

He did not expect the tears that brimmed Geralt’s eyes, nor the ones that actually escaped. Jaskier quickly used his thumb to wipe them away, but Geralt stopped him, placing his own hand on the back of Jaskier’s neck. With a gentle press, Jaskier complied with Geralt’s silent instruction and hesitantly bent his head down. Geralt met him halfway, the foreheads resting against each other. For a moment, neither said a word, but Jaskier could feel the trembles wracking Geralt’s body. It didn’t take long for Jaskier to join him. Seeing Geralt in such a vulnerable position - over _him_ , no less - broke Jaskier’s heart, and soon, their tears were mixing together.

“Jask,” Geralt rasped out finally, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so fucking _sorry_.”

“It’s okay, darling,” Jaskier murmured, running his hand from Geralt’s face to the base of his neck, mirroring Geralt’s hold on him. “I forgave you so long ago.”

A broken whimper escaped Geralt. “You aren’t real, but, Gods, I wish you were.”

At that, Jaskier pulled away but not far. He gazed deeply into Geralt’s amber eyes and firmly stated, “My dear friend, it _is_ me. I am real.”

Geralt shook his head, pain written all over his face. “No. No, you’re gone. I...I _saw_ you-” Geralt drew in a shaky breath. “You’re gone.”

“I...I know what you saw, Geralt, and I can never apologize enough for it.” Jaskier rubbed his thumb soothingly over Geralt’s skin. “I am so sorry you had to see that. It was never your fault, and I do not blame you for it. I’m here now, though. Geralt, _I am here._ I promise.”

“How?” Geralt raked his eyes over Jaskier’s body, as if searching for any semblance of magic. “How are you here?”

Jaskier swallowed thickly. “That, my dear, is a conversation for when you are well, once you have given yourself enough time to rest.” Jaskier ghosted his other hand over the dark bags under Geralt’s eyes. “You haven’t been taking care of yourself, darling, and that just won’t do.”

Geralt released his hold on Jaskier in favor of grasping the wrist of the hand that lingered on his nape. “Stay?”

“Of course. I will stay by your side for as long as you’ll have me.”

A smile crossed Geralt’s face, this one free of any blood and only of pure solace. “Forever, then.”

Jaskier's heart throbbed painfully, and he fought back the urge to cry a new wave of tears, one that wouldn’t be nearly as relieved as his last. As Geralt closed his eyes once more, Jaskier stroked Geralt’s cheek, knowing the witcher had already slipped from the grasps of consciousness.

“Never say forever, my dear. You might not mean it.” Jaskier touched his forehead to Geralt’s again. “And my heart cannot shatter another time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're finally together again! Whoo! The long-awaited talk will come next chapter, I promise. Let's _pray_ I do it justice, haha! 
> 
> With that aside, I have a really big question to ask you guys: If I write another story, this time being Eskel-centric, would y'all still read it? It would take place in Kaer Morhen, with all the witchers (being Geralt, Eskel, Lambert, Vesemir, and _maybe_ Cöen) and Jaskier, of course. The plan is for it to be an angst-driven story with a happy ending. Does that sound like it would interest you? Please, please, please let me know. 
> 
> All in all, I hope you guys enjoyed this! Thank you for reading!


	9. Fractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The waves were peaceful, and they soothed away _most_ of his worries. Certainly not all. Not when the source of some of them was sleeping right-
> 
> “Jaskier?”
> 
> _Fuck, he’s awake._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I would just like to say that I absolutely _hate_ this chapter. Remember when I replied to some of your comments and said that I hope to do this conversation justice? Yeah, that didn't happen. I've rewritten this several times and each time, I want to throttle this story by the neck (if it was a person anyway). Either way, here it is.
> 
> And, in case you haven't noticed, this story finally has a finished chapter count! We have one more chapter after this then the epilogue! Whoo! I'm kinda stoked about it. This was my first time writing a chapter fic in _so_ long and you guys have made this journey memorable. So thank you, and without further ado, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

_“Break me with that truth.  
_ _Take all my fractions.  
_ _Shaping something new  
_ _Out of the fragments.  
_ _Light up this old soul.  
_ _I was broken,  
_ _Now I’m golden.  
_ _Now I’m golden.”_

_~_ _Fractions_ _,_ The Juniper Vale

~~~~~~~

Jaskier strummed his lute, an unwavering smile on his face as his fingers danced across the strings. At the river, Oaris pulled at the waves, playing with them as she had while he wrote his secret melody’s lyrics by the lake. He let out a short chuckle, letting the sound of the waves and his lute flow around him. Geralt was still resting, laid out on the grass with one of his softer bags pillowing his head. Occasionally, Jaskier would send glances to the witcher, as if checking to make sure this all hadn’t been a dream, ensuring this was all real. Each time, the sight of Geralt peacefully sleeping greeted him, and the smile on his face would brighten.

Things would be different this time, Jaskier resolved. If Geralt accepted him, accepted him as who he was now, Jaskier would make sure things were different. No more denying of friendships or care, no more of this...whatever the fuck Geralt had been doing. Denying himself comfort? Denying himself _basic healing?_ Whatever it was, no more of it. No more guilt between them, no more hiding hurt behind masks. No more. Jaskier was done with it all.

He plucked at the lute strings, a soft melody, nothing rambunctious. The fog had lifted, leaving behind the quiet dawn, the sun starting to crest over the treetops. The glow cast a purple hue over the sky, birds starting to call out to one another, a way to say, _“Hey, I’m still here."_ And Jaskier smiled, because he understood that call. Once upon a time, about seven months ago, he didn’t think he’d be able to say those words as he plummeted down a cliffside to dark waters. Now...Now he could. So he did.

“I’m still here,” he whispered, closing his eyes and letting Oaris’s waves and his lute ground him. “I’m still here.”

**_“And I will make sure you always will be.”_ **

Jaskier hummed lightly, a soft and happy sound. “So long as I have you and Geralt by my side, I think I would enjoy that very much.”

**_“Well, I can promise you only half of that wish. You will always have me, even when you do not want me.”_ **

“I’ll get angry sometimes, Oaris. I will get annoyed like I did earlier today. I won’t say that I won’t. But being angry and hating you are two very different things, and after what you have done for me all these years, I doubt there is much you can do that will make me hate you.”

**_“You say that as if you did not hate me for turning you into a siren.”_ **

Jaskier shook his head, an immediate _“mm-mm-mm"_ humming from his throat as a way to proclaim his negative response. “Nope. Not hate. Anger. Fear. I was afraid, but I didn’t hate you.”

Oaris was quiet for a moment. **_“I am...happy to hear that,"_** she finally whispered, and she sounded genuine. Jaskier looked to the river and flashed her an open smile.

They fell into silence again.

Jaskier closed his eyes and continued his motions, a simple yet sweet melody mixing in with Oaris’s...playing? Was that what she was doing? It was endearing to see a goddess have some fun. Jaskier doubted she could have much of it, so he let her do what she wanted without comment. He quite enjoyed it, too. The waves were peaceful, and they soothed away _most_ of his worries. Certainly not all. Not when the source of some of them was sleeping right-

“Jaskier?”

_Fuck, he’s awake._

Jaskier snapped open his eyes, straightening his back and stopping his lute-playing. Oaris’s waves stopped and silence enveloped them as he looked the few feet of distance between him and Geralt. He locked eyes with those golden cat eyes he’d wished to see for months on end. Jaskier swallowed thickly. Last time, Geralt had been groggy, woozy from blood loss and unfamiliar healing magic. Now, those eyes were clear as day, and the small frown on Geralt’s face unsettled him. Jaskier didn’t move, not wishing to startle his companion.

“Geralt.” Jaskier gave a soft smile. “Nice to see you awake.”

“How...How are you here?”

Jaskier sighed quietly, shifting his gaze to the grass below him. “That _is_ the question of the day, isn’t it?” he murmured, but he knew Geralt could hear him clearly. Jaskier cleared his throat, ridding it of the betraying lump that threatened to block Jaskier’s attempts at reuniting with his best friend...or severing their ties for the last time.

“Geralt, I...I have some... _explaining_ to do.” Jaskier rubbed the back of his neck nervously, lifting his gaze back to Geralt’s. His heart stopped at the sight. 

Geralt’s eyes were guarded, apprehensive, which Jaskier understood. If he had seen Geralt jump off a cliff and then reappear, healthy as ever, Jaskier would have thought he was a doppler or some kind of illusion or hallucination. But underneath that, he saw the emotion no one would see if they hadn’t traveled with the White Wolf for twenty-two years. Jaskier saw the hope, the desperation, the hurt, the pain. He saw the void his death left behind, saw the influx of emotion Geralt claimed not to have. Jaskier wanted to take that all away, wanted to take away all of Geralt’s pain and give him something new, something better, something his dear friend had always deserved. Happiness. He wanted to give Geralt that. He wanted to give Geralt companionship, comfort. Geralt deserved _love_.

The White Wolf should not have to sing alone.

“I want you to know that I...I _am_ Jaskier. I’m not some doppler or configuration of your own mind. It...It really _is_ me.”

Geralt’s frown deepened, and Jaskier could see the minute shaking of his hands. “How can I believe that? I watched you…” Geralt trailed off, face darkening. 

Jaskier flinched, averting his eyes briefly. Shit. Maintaining eye contact with Geralt was so difficult, especially when the witcher kept throwing bombs like that at him. Jaskier opened his mouth to reply, but Geralt cut over him.

“If you’re not a doppler, you’ll touch silver then?”

Jaskier’s mouth went dry, and he stared back at Geralt, jaw working to hold back the sob building in his chest. Silver. He couldn’t touch it. He couldn’t touch it, not when it would burn him. He wasn’t a doppler, but he was still a monster, and silver was now the bane of his existence. 

“I-I can’t, Geralt.” 

The frown pulled into an angry snarl, Geralt’s eyes ablaze with rage. Jaskier recoiled. No doubt Geralt was more than suspicious by now, likely vexed by the idea that some _monster_ thought it to be funny to play with his emotions, to fool him into believing that his friend was alive. Jaskier shook his head quickly.

“No, no, Geralt, you don’t understand-”

“Who the _f_ _uck_ are you?” Geralt snarled, slowly rising to his knees, hand reaching for the silver sword Jaskier had placed not too far from the witcher. Left there as an olive branch or symbol of proof, Jaskier supposed, though he was severely regretting his decision now.

Jaskier pulled his limbs closer to himself, pushing as far back into the tree behind him as he could. He wanted as much distance from himself and that damn sword as possible. If Geralt didn’t want him around, that was fine, he would leave, but Jaskier did not come this far just to be slain by Geralt’s anger. Was he even looking at Geralt anymore, the White Wolf? Or was this…?

_Oh, Geralt. Who have you become?_

“Geralt, please! I can explain!”

“Then _do it_ ,” came the growled response.

“I did! I did jump off the cliff! I know you saw me!” Geralt’s movements stilled, but the glare didn’t fade. “I know you saw me, and I’m _sorry_. I never wanted you to see that. You didn’t _deserve_ to see that, no matter what you may have said to me on the mountain.”

At the mention of the mountain, Jaskier could see Geralt’s shoulders slump and the pain in his eyes break through the guard for a split second before the witcher was pushing it down again, scowl deepening.

“I’m _so sorry_ , Geralt. But I...I know better now. I survived that fall.”

“ _No one_ could survive that fall,” Geralt spat, but Jaskier could hear the crack in his voice.

Jaskier stared deeply back at him, not breaking eye contact as he whispered, “Not everyone has a voice in their head watching over them.”

The scowl finally wiped from Geralt’s face, and the hand that managed to grasp the sword loosened its grip. Disbelief and a distinct look of longing made its way onto Geralt’s face in the form of widening eyes and the slackening - but not quite dropping - of his jaw. 

“The Voice...” Geralt breathed, eyes never straying from Jaskier’s face. “Jaskier…”

Jaskier reached into his shirt carefully, pulling out the golden medallion. A stuttered breath escaped from Geralt’s lungs as he recognized the sight of the golden bird. “You remember this, right? How I lost it during one of your monster fights in a lake? Turns out that voice is actually a _water goddess_. She gave it back to me a few months ago. I went looking for it.” Tears began to brim Jaskier’s eyes. “It’s me, Geralt. I swear to all the gods above, it’s _me_.”

“But you won’t touch silver…”

Jaskier shook his head sadly. “I can’t, dear heart,” he whispered. Trying for a wry grin, but failing, Jaskier replied, “Apparently jumping off a cliff has its repercussions.”

Geralt stood, clenching the sword in one hand and the other into a fist in an attempt to stop them from shaking. “What happened to you, Jask?” he asked quietly, voice barely above a gasp.

Jaskier breathed out a long, deep sigh. “According to the Voice, my human body couldn’t take the brunt of the fall. It died on impact.”

Geralt let out a huff of frustration. “What the fuck does that _mean_ -?” Geralt paused, horror beginning to dawn on his face. He gazed at Jaskier, grief-stricken. “You’re...You’re not human anymore.”

Fear welled up inside Jaskier’s chest, and he scrambled to his feet, ready to disappear into the forest at a moment’s notice. He watched Geralt’s face morph into one of confusion, but Jaskier was prepared. He wasn’t taking _any_ chances, not with his gift of a second life. 

“I’m a _siren_ , Geralt,” Jaskier choked out, a tear slipping from his eye and down his cheek.

Geralt took a step forward.

Jaskier immediately stumbled back, words spilling from his mouth before he could stop them. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I understand if you don’t want me around you anymore. I get it. I’m _sorry_ , Geralt. I know I’m a _fucking monster_ , but, please, just don’t...don’t kill me, please. I’ll leave. I’ll-”

“ _Jask._ ”

Jaskier glanced up, tears obscuring his vision, though he could just barely see the alarm and panic on Geralt’s face. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed.

Geralt shook his head. “No, don’t...don’t apologize. None of this is your fault. It’s...It’s mine.”

“No, Geralt, it’s not-”

“It _is_ ,” Geralt hissed, dropping the sword to the ground as he averted his gaze into the forest. He crossed his arms. “Fuck,” he murmured. With a deep breath, he continued, “Those words I said on the mountain, they were _wrong_. I shouldn’t have said them. You didn’t deserve it. I didn’t mean it.”

Geralt shook his head again. “And...And I would _never_ kill you, Jask, siren or not. So please, don’t stand there thinking I’m going to fucking- I _wouldn’t_.” Geralt closed his eyes. “I-I missed you. All these months, I thought I’d never see you again and all I could think about was how I treated you, that those were the last words I said to you. On the cliffside, I... _Fuck_ , Jaskier. I was only _seconds_ away. You were _right there._ I could’ve stopped you. You were never supposed to even fucking be there, but I-” Geralt opened his eyes again, and Jaskier’s heart stopped at the sight of tears brewing in the witcher’s eyes. “I am sorry.”

Jaskier hesitated, breath catching in his throat. Tears dripped down his face, but he didn’t bother to wipe them away. “So...So you’re not gonna throw me away?”

A choked sound came from Geralt. “No, Jask,” he croaked. “I...I want you to travel with me again...if you would allow me to prove myself as a worthy travel companion.”

A watery smile broke across Jaskier’s face. Laying the lute on the ground, Jaskier inched towards Geralt, still a bit cautious. As if he read Jaskier’s mind, Geralt uncrossed his arms and held them open. Before any of them could think twice, Jaskier launched himself forward, throwing himself bodily into Geralt’s embrace. The witcher’s arms immediately wrapped around his bard, holding him tightly against his chest. Jaskier buried his face in Geralt’s shoulder, breathing in his witcher’s scent of sandalwood, blood, and sweat. He felt Geralt rest his face into his hair and for a while, they stood like this. Eventually, they sunk back down to their knees, but they never let go. It’d been over seven months since they last saw each other, and they had never held each other like this. Letting go hadn’t yet crossed their minds, and they didn’t expect to for a while.

“I get it now, Geralt.”

Geralt hummed, not giving any indication of being startled at Jaskier’s sudden declaration. “Get what?”

“Why you said what you did on the mountain.”

Geralt made a short noise in the back of his throat, and Jaskier felt his mouth open to interject, but he cut in first.

“I’m not saying I blame you or that I... _agree_ with it. I’m just saying I get _why_ you did it.” Jaskier took in a deep breath, let Geralt’s scent calm him, before saying, “Jumping off that cliff wasn’t premeditated, you know. I didn’t plan it. I just...I was there, I was hurting, and I really, really wanted it to stop. So I made a decision. I lashed out and made a split-second decision. The minute I woke up again after Oaris saved me, I regretted it.”

Geralt was silent for a moment. “I still shouldn’t have said those words to you, no matter how angry I was.”

“And I shouldn’t have thrown away my life like that. Even?”

“This isn’t a fucking competition, Jaskier.”

“Mm, no, I don’t think so. I’d more like to call this an understanding.” Jaskier’s fist tightened in Geralt’s shirt. “We both made really stupid choices, and we both got our consequences. I got turned into a...a _siren_ , and you...I have an idea of what happened to you.”

Geralt’s hold tightened and a strangled whine fell from his lips. “I didn’t want to. I hated every second of it. But I was angry at myself, at…”

“I know. But it’s not going to happen again, Geralt. I refuse to let it happen again.” Jaskier pulled away to look Geralt in the eyes, uncaring of how they both had tear-stained faces. “I don’t care how fucking angry you are. You shouldn’t have denied yourself so much. You stopped taking care of yourself. I _saw_ your supplies, or lack thereof, really. You don’t have any damn potions or bandages. Were you _trying_ to get yourself killed?”

Geralt flinched, choosing to stare off at the space over Jaskier’s shoulder rather than the bard. “I didn’t deserve any of it. Not after what I did to you.”

Jaskier sighed. “My dear, if I denied myself care after every mistake I made, I would have died a long time ago.”

“That’s not funny,” Geralt growled. 

“Does it sound like I’m trying to make a joke?” Jaskier jabbed a finger into Geralt’s chest. “I mean it, Geralt. You need to take better care of yourself, whether I’m around or not.”

Geralt’s jaw clenched before he nodded stiffly. “Fine.”

“Good.” Jaskier leaned back into Geralt, no longer seeing the witcher’s face as he turned his head to the side, staring off at the river as he rested his cheek on Geralt’s shoulder. A few moments of quiet, save for the forest sounds and slow beat of Geralt’s heart, passed before it was eventually broken once more.

“Oaris...that’s the voice’s name?”

Jaskier gave an affirmative hum. “She’s a _water goddess_ , Geralt. A water goddess has been talking to me.”

A wry chuckle sounded from above him. “After today, I don’t see a reason not to believe it.”

“I agree,” Jaskier snorted. “You know, you still haven’t asked me to show you.”

“Show me what?”

“Me as a siren.”

“I can’t take your word for it?” Geralt sounded genuinely confused, and Jaskier couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Well, you could, but I just thought...I dunno. Maybe you would want to confirm it for yourself?”

Geralt hesitated. “If you don’t want to show me, you don’t have to.”

Jaskier pushed away from Geralt again, giving a warm smile. “I’ll do it. I trust you.”

A fond look crossed Geralt’s face, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. “Later, Jask,” he answered. “For now, I just want to-”

Jaskier’s smile widened. A warm feeling spread through his chest as he stared into amber eyes that held nothing but honesty and longing and...a glimmer of _happiness._ It wasn’t much, but it was there, and Jaskier refused to deny that he had put it there. It’d been so long since he’d been able to see Geralt, but now that he had, Jaskier scorned the idea of letting the witcher out of his sight again. He’d spent _twenty-two_ _years_ by this man’s side, and though they had separated before, it had never been like it had for the past year. They would never separate like this again if Jaskier had anything to say about it. 

“I understand,” Jaskier replied quietly, because he did. He really, truly did understand. He wanted nothing more than to stay here with Geralt, to treasure the moments he’d been dreaming of for a little while longer. All their pain and regrets, it all washed away the longer they kept each other within reach. Never had they embraced like this, but it helped. It confirmed that this wasn’t a dream, that this was _real,_ that neither of them was going to fade if the other glanced away.

“I think I need to thank Oaris,” Geralt grunted.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow, breaking out of his musings. “Oh?”

“Hm. She _did_ save your life after all.”

“I suppose she did.”

**_“My reasons were a bit more selfish than the two of you give me credit for, little flower.”_ **

_The fact of the matters remains, Oaris. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. You saved my life, and by extension, Geralt’s. You gave me a second chance at life, a chance at a_ _new_ _l_ _ife. I could never thank you enough for that._

**_“My dear, just you living happily is enough to repay me.”_ **

Jaskier huffed an amused breath before relaying the conversation back to a patiently-waiting Geralt. The witcher merely hummed in response, but Jaskier could see the upward tick of his mouth.

“Selfish decision or not, I’m...I’m glad she brought you back, Jaskier.”

Jaskier shifted himself from kneeling in front of Geralt to sitting beside him, side-to-side so he could lean his head onto Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt wrapped his arm around Jaskier’s back, and the two of them curled next to each other.

“Me, too, my dear witcher,” he replied softly as the two friends watched the sunrise over the treetops, the sound of the rushing river and waking forest echoing around them. “Me, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get what I mean now? When I said I hated that discussion? Do you get it? _Cuz I hate it._ But it's the best I could do, honestly. I intend to make it up with the next chapter. As far as I've planned, there will be little to no angst in the next chapter. Mostly just fluff. Hopefully, that's something you guys have been looking forward to.
> 
>  _AND,_ from what it seems from your comments, a few of you guys would like to read that Eskel-centric story, which makes me _so super excited_ so THANK YOU!!!
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Thanks for reading!


	10. End of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re missing things.”
> 
> “...Excuse me?”
> 
> “You’re missing things.”
> 
> “What the fuck does that mean?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back with the second to last chapter! Sorry it took so long. Writer's block and this ridiculous heat are total mood-killers. This chapter is formatted a little differently than the others, but I didn't want to drag it on _too_ long, so hopefully this is okay for you guys. The epilogue is definitely going to be a _MUCH_ shorter chapter. After that, it's the Eskel-centric story while I plot out the sequel to this story. Just as a side note, the Eskel-centric fic will be in no way connected to this story. It's gonna be its own thing. Hopefully you'll enjoy it anyway. Without much else, please enjoy!

~~~~~~~

 _"When things are right,  
Then you just know.  
There is something in your eyes  
That brings me home.  
_ _'Cause when there's love,_  
 _You don't let go._  
 _So as long as you're with me,_  
 _You're not alone, you'll never be."_

 _~ End of Time,_ Alan Walker, K-381, Ahrix

~~~~~~~

“You’re missing things.”

“...Excuse me?”

“You’re missing things.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Geralt gestured vaguely at Jaskier, who was sitting in his siren form atop a boulder on the opposite side of the river. “Wings.”

“Wings?”

Geralt hummed. “Sirens have wings.”

Jaskier stared down at his tail, which, sure enough, had its fins but no wings. He recalled the sirens from before, circling above him, and the sirens he had witnessed Geralt fighting over their twenty-two years of travel together, but he hadn’t given much thought into his own lack of wings. He gave a small, _“huh,”_ before shooting a look at the river. “Oaris?”

**_“Like I have said before, Dandelion. I am easing you into being a siren. You got your appearance first, then your secret melody. You started learning how to swim a few months ago, you learned how to communicate with other sirens recently, and I have yet to teach you how to shriek and lure. Wings are hardly an issue you need to deal with at this moment.”_ **

Jaskier nodded slowly, thinking it over. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

“What did she say?”

“Just again that she’s easing me into it. I’ve only just learned how to do some basic siren things, haven’t even applied them to situations yet, so she doesn’t want to burden me with learning to fly yet. Guess it’s a lot more complicated than other sirens make them look.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “You thought flying would be easy?”

“I didn’t _think_ much of it, Geralt!” Jaskier snarked back, but no malice could be found in his tone. “I didn’t even realize I was supposed to _have_ wings until just now!”

Shaking his head, Geralt sighed, “You’re the same as always.”

At that, a large grin grew across Jaskier’s face. “Maybe. But you missed it.”

“Unfortunately,” came the exasperated reply, but the effect was lessened by the fond look on Geralt’s face.

Jaskier hummed contentedly. “What else am I missing?”

“Your hearing, smell, and sight. Is it what it used to be?”

Jaskier shrugged. “Yeah, I think so. Why? Are sirens supposed to have better senses?”

“Only those three, but yes. It’s how they catch their prey.”

“Well, I guess she’s easing me into that, too.”

**_“I am.”_ **

Geralt’s eyes softened as he sat cross-legged by the riverbank, sharpening his swords as Jaskier lounged about on the boulder, soaking in the afternoon sun. When Jaskier looked over to catch the gentle expression, the witcher immediately wiped it away to replace it with a mask of indifference, but he wasn’t quite fast enough. Jaskier didn’t comment on it.

“You hopped into the water with your clothes on. Not worried about getting them wet?”

Jaskier snorted. “Geralt, this is the same damn doublet since the mountain, which was almost a year ago. It’s so dirty and tattered that I doubt a little bit of water is going to change much.” Geralt grinned as Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Besides, I don’t get wet. Oaris makes sure of it.”

 ** _“I do,”_** Oaris piped up, though only Jaskier could hear her. **_“It is senseless to let the water soak your clothing when I can just as easily keep you dry.”_**

 _Thank you, Oaris. It is much appreciated,_ he thought with the slightest hint of sarcasm, though he genuinely meant it.

 ** _“It is my absolute pleasure, little flower,”_** Oaris replied, her voice teasing. Jaskier grinned.

“Convenient,” Geralt murmured.

“Jealous, dear witcher?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow in response.

Jaskier snickered, turning his head back to look up at the sky, despite the fact he shut his eyes. “Right, of course. Who am I talking to? A man who wears armor perpetually soiled by dirt, sweat, blood, viscera, and other questionable fluids.”

“I clean it.”

“Geralt, your ‘cleaning’ consists of dunking it in water and cleaning out only certain spaces. If it hadn’t been for me, the creases of your armor would likely have been beyond salvageable.”

“It works.”

“Barely.”

The two fell into a companionable silence. The wildlife around them and the gurgling river made enough noise to make the environment comfortable. At some point, Geralt had moved Jaskier’s lute from the treeline where the bard had lain it to his bags where Roach rested. Jaskier’s fingers itched to play, but he was far too relaxed on the boulder to be bothered to move. He settled for humming instead.

“You’re a siren.”

Jaskier snickered. “Yes, Geralt. We have established this.”

“A lament.”

At this, Jaskier opened his eyes and shot Geralt an offended look. “Being a siren certainly isn’t the best thing in the world, but I doubt I’ve been _that_ vocal about it.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Siren songs.”

“...You mean secret melodies?”

“We call them laments,” Geralt responded with a raised eyebrow. “Secret melodies?”

Jaskier shrugged as best he could while laying down. “Yeah. According to Oaris, it’s because they’re special to each siren, you know? So we each have our own little secret song until an unlucky soul stumbles across us.”

“Wouldn’t call myself unlucky to ‘stumble’ across you.”

A startled laugh escaped Jaskier’s lips, and he shot a disbelieving look at his witcher, who was decidedly _not_ looking at him. “Geralt of Rivia. Was that a _compliment?”_

“No.”

“By the Gods above, I think it was. I’ll treasure this moment. Oaris, remind me not to forget this.”

 ** _“It would be my honor,”_** came Oaris’s dry response.

“Not a treasurable moment if you need someone to remind you to remember it.”

“Oh, hush you.” A pause. “So...laments?”

“Hm.”

“...Huh. Makes sense, I suppose. Lost in translation.”

“Doubt it would be considered a loss in translation. Sirens are capable of speaking common tongue, though very few.”

**_“He is correct. Some of your much older sisters are able to speak common tongue to normal humans or witchers.”_ **

“Well, what do you know? Learn something new every day.” Jaskier sat up, tilting his head questioningly at Geralt. “Anyways, you brought it up. What did you want to know?”

Geralt suddenly looked very uncomfortable, eyeing his sword as though it were the most intriguing thing he’d ever seen. It took him a few moments to answer, but he eventually sighed. “When I was attacked, I heard you singing. I was more focused on _who_ was singing, rather than _what_ you were singing. Sirens sing about their deaths. Why we call them laments.” Geralt lifted his gaze to stare at Jaskier, a curious but also hesitant look in his eyes. “What’s yours?”

Jaskier’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “You really wanna know?” he asked quietly, just barely able to be heard over the river.

Geralt nodded. “I have to.”

Jaskier held Geralt’s unwavering gaze for a few moments longer, looking for any semblance of regret or faltering, before heaving a big sigh. “Okay. I won’t deny you it. You have every right to hear it. But just as a warning, it’s not...it’s not pretty.”

“I would imagine most songs about death aren’t.”

“Don’t get snarky with me.” Jaskier breathed in deeply. “Okay. Here we go.” Closing his eyes, the words fell from his lips as easily as _‘Toss a Coin’_ would. He didn’t dare look at Geralt, didn’t dare to see the expression on his witcher’s face. He tried his hardest not to put any power or influence into his voice, attempted to sing as normally as he was once able to. He had yet to try singing around anything that wasn’t water, trees, or another siren before, so he was worried about accidentally luring Geralt into the river between them. It might’ve been a bit amusing to see, but Jaskier didn’t think now would be a good time for it.

 _“I am not his one…”_ Jaskier concluded, holding his sorrowful note for a couple of seconds before letting it drop. Opening his eyes, Jaskier took a minute to stare at the river, let Geralt school his expression into however he so wanted it, then looking up to catch the witcher’s eyes. Apparently that minute meant fucking nothing to Geralt because he was still staring at Jaskier with such a broken and sad look on his face that made Jaskier want to turn back time and refuse to sing the song in the first place.

“His one,” Geralt murmured.

Jaskier flinched. “Geralt…”

“I’m included in your lament.”

“Don’t read too much into it.”

“I caused your death.”

Jaskier made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “It was after the mountain, I’d just lost my best friend, I was hurting, and I missed you. Again, do not read too much into it.”

“Jask-”

“Listen, I was hurt because I thought you’d chosen Yennefer over me. Again. That’s it. That’s all. Literally nothing else but me being angsty over the mountain. You did not cause my death, you did not push me off the cliff, you did not slay me with your sword. Geralt, repeat after me: do not read too much into it.”

Geralt did not, in fact, repeat after him, but he did clench his jaw and nod, though the guilt never left his eyes. Jaskier withheld a sigh. Getting a self-deprecating bastard like Geralt to let go of his guilt was nigh impossible, but damn it all if he wasn’t going to try. Just not right now. It wasn’t the best time to push these matters. Instead, Jaskier huffed and rolled his eyes before looking up at the afternoon sun.

“You know, tomorrow, we should find another village.”

Geralt jerked his head towards the sack near Roach that held the wings of the siren he’d slain before Jaskier arrived. “That was a contract.”

“Oh. Do you want to return it now?”

Geralt thought for a moment then shook his head. “It can wait.”

“You sure? We’re not really doing much around here. We could just as easily walk back and gather your coin. Maybe even get a bed at an inn tonight.” Jaskier let out a wishful groan at that. “Oh, Gods, a _bed._ I haven’t slept in one of those in _months.”_

Geralt stared at him, alarm thinly concealed in those amber eyes. “Where the fuck have you been sleeping?”

“I have become one with nature, dear witcher,” Jaskier replied with a toothy grin. “I have slept on the dirt or in lakes. I spent some time in a village, but it was only to collect enough coin to buy a new songbook, quill, and ink. I never spent the night there.”

“What songbook?” Geralt asked, looking around the clearing.

In response, Oaris let water rise out of the river in one continuous stream, like she did when she dressed him, and dumped the songbook onto the boulder, right next to Jaskier’s tail. The water crashed back down to the river as Jaskier held up the undamaged book triumphantly.

Geralt merely stared. “What the _fuck.”_

“Jealous now?”

“Fuck off.”

~~~~~~~

The sounds and smells of a village hit Jaskier like a sucker punch when they approached the gates. If this was what it was like to be out of civilization for a handful of weeks when he still had normal human senses, then he was not looking forward to what it would be like when they were eventually enhanced. He raised a hand to his nose to block out the aromas from the bakery nearby and the stench of horse manure from the stables. He wanted to cover his ears, too, to hide from the grating sounds of people talking or horseshoes on stone, but he didn’t have enough hands for that.

“You okay?”

Jaskier looked up to see Geralt frowning at him from atop Roach. Jaskier’s legs burned a bit from the amount of walking they’d done - he was more used to swimming at this point - and his shoulders throbbed from the additional weight of his lute on his back, but they were both familiar aches, one he reveled in after so long of wishing he could travel by Geralt’s side again.

Jaskier flashed him his best smile. “Fine. Just a bit more than I’m used to after so long, you know?”

Geralt hummed, giving a short nod before leading them to the stables. He made quick work of threatening the stableboy, grabbing the sack holding the siren’s wings after. As the stableboy led Roach further inside to take care of her, Jaskier followed Geralt to the village alderman’s house, clutching his lute case strap and sticking close to his witcher. Once upon a time, he used to love people. Now, it felt so much more crowded than the forests. Thankfully, Geralt didn’t comment on Jaskier’s behavior, choosing instead to nearly knock the alderman’s door off its hinges and drop the sack on the frightened man’s desk.

“The siren,” Geralt grunted.

The balding man scrambled up from his chair, peeking into the sack with shaking hands. Upon seeing the wings inside, he practically flung himself backward, nose scrunching in disgust. Jaskier had to turn his head, hiding his face behind Geralt’s back as he smothered a snort of laughter. Geralt fought his own smirk at the bard’s antics, raising an eyebrow at the alderman.

“R-Right. Y-Yes. Your c-coin. O-Of course, sir w-witcher.” The man turned his back to the duo, sifting through drawers to find Geralt’s pay. Jaskier turned to Geralt, jaw dropping in mock surprise.

 _“Sir witcher?”_ he mouthed, an exaggerated look of incredulity written on his face.

Geralt rolled his eyes.

“H-Here. F-From the villagers.” The alderman held out a coin bag, hand trembling. Geralt took the bag from the man, resisting the urge to snatch it out of the man’s hands as he used to when he traveled without-

“Hm.” Without a word, Geralt turned on his heel and stalked out of the house, a dark look passing over his face. Jaskier made a surprised noise, hightailing it out of there to catch up with the witcher.

“Geralt? What happened back there? Are you alright?”

“Fine,” he gritted out.

Jaskier frowned, placing a hand on Geralt’s shoulder to halt him. They both knew that, if he wanted, Geralt could have barreled right through Jaskier’s grip, but he didn’t. He merely clenched his jaw and avoided looking at his companion.

“Geralt, talk to me. What happened?”

For a few moments, Geralt didn’t say anything, and at the end of it all, he still didn’t. Instead, he glanced down at Jaskier, giving the bard an ashamed glance before turning away again. It took a bit, but eventually, Jaskier understood what he was trying to say, a soft _“oh”_ falling from his lips.

Jaskier sighed. “Look, I know the past few months have been...hard-” Geralt let out a derisive snort at that - _“but_ ,” Jaskier continued, shooting Geralt a stern look, “it’s okay now. I’m here. With you. We’re fine, and we’ll continue to be fine, okay? So no more of your... _brooding,_ okay?” In a much softer voice, Jaskier whispered, “You are _not_ the monster you think you are. You are _not_ the Butcher.”

Geralt finally locked eyes with Jaskier again, amber eyes shining with an odd sheen to them that the bard refused to comment on. Geralt nodded.

“Good!” Jaskier clapped his hands together before whirling around to look at the marketplace not far away. “Now that that’s settled, we need to find an apothecary.”

“For what?”

“For your lack of fucking potions, Geralt. I’m not letting that go. We’ll find some medicinal herbs, some bandages, some salves...then we’ll carry on from there, yes?”

Geralt grunted, not quite a yes, but Jaskier definitely wasn’t taking it as a no.

“Fantastic!” Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s arm and pulled him towards the market. “Let’s go!”

~~~~~~~

Jaskier let out a pretty undignified coo as he lifted up a golden ring embellished with intricate patterns. “How _gorgeous!”_ He turned to show Geralt, who couldn’t look less interested. “It would match my medallion fairly well, don’t you think?”

“Hm.”

“Yes. Truly, I missed our deep conversations,” Jaskier retorted before sliding the ring onto his right ring finger to try it on. If he bought it, it would not only act as a beautiful piece of jewelry to replace his silver, but also as something to fiddle with to fuel his nervous tics. A win-win situation in his book.

“If only I had coin left over…Oh, well!” Jaskier slid the ring off his finger and was about to place it back on its stand when a coin purse was shoved into his view. A short noise of alarm echoed between them as Jaskier hesitantly reached up to grab the nearly-filled coin purse.

“Geralt? Certainly you aren’t offering to pay for this frankly over-priced ring?” Jaskier ignored the seller’s aggravated huff at the snide comment in favor of looking at Geralt.

Geralt looked away. “Not mine.”

“Well, then who’s-?” Jaskier looked back at the coin purse, and then it hit him. The familiar brown purse, filled nearly to the brim. “Wait...this is…”

“It was with your lute,” Geralt grunted. “With your cloak.”

Jaskier’s mouth went dry. He gave a short nod and paid for the over-priced ring with a tight-lipped smile. As they walked away, he murmured, “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Geralt-”

_“Don’t mention it.”_

“I mean it, Geralt.” Jaskier sighed. “Let me at least do something for you.”

“What does that mean?” Geralt asked, eyes narrowing in confusion.

“Well, you brought back my lute, my cloak, my coin purse...Surely, there’s some way I can repay you.”

“Your presence isn’t enough?”

“If you want to look at it that way, sure, but I don’t think so.” Jaskier nudged Geralt with his shoulder. “So…?”

Geralt stayed quiet for a while. When Jaskier started to give up on expecting a response, he blurted out, “Get rid of it.”

Jaskier blinked in surprise. “Excuse me? Get rid of _what?”_

“That damn outfit,” Geralt snarled, adamantly refusing to look anywhere in Jaskier’s direction.

“Well then!” Jaskier spluttered. “I know it’s quite dirty and tattered and frankly beaten to hell, but, really, Geralt, it was _quite_ the beaut back in its day and-”

“It’s not the outfit, Jaskier,” Geralt snapped. At Jaskier’s sharp poke with his elbow, he huffed out a breath in an attempt to calm himself. “It’s...It’s _when_ …and _where_...”

Jaskier swallowed thickly. “...I see. Well, there was this pretty purple one I saw on our way to the alderman’s house back over here…” He tugged on Geralt’s arm and pulled him in the direction of the purple doublet he’d seen, chattering along the way.

And if he’d seen the soft smile on Geralt’s face as he did it, well, no one needed to know.

~~~~~~~

“Oh, by the _Gods_ , Geralt. Nothing is better than a nice, warm, clean bath in water that is _not_ salty,” Jaskier groaned, tilting his head back against the rim of the tub and closing his eyes. “No offense, Oaris, but your waters are shit to bathe in.”

 ** _“You know I can turn your bath into ice-cold water if you continue with your disrespect, Jaskier,”_** Oaris snarked back, but she held no malice. Jaskier grinned cheekily in response.

Geralt snorted from somewhere in the bathing room. “Are you teasing a water goddess?”

“After almost a decade of her living in my head, she’s heard worse.”

**_“You have quite a foul mouth for someone with a flowery name, Buttercup.”_ **

_The name is naught but a facade for the hurricane I truly am,_ Jaskier joked. He huffed a small laugh at Oaris’s long-suffering sigh.

“Hm.” Footsteps drew closer to the tub, the sound of a stool being pulled forward catching Jaskier’s attention. He was about to open his eyes to see what Geralt was doing, only to be interrupted by a blunt, “Lift your head.”

Jaskier complied, a perplexed frown crossing his face. A bucket of water dumping over his head cut off any questions on the tip of Jaskier’s tongue. He pointedly ignored Oaris’s soft chuckles as he snapped open his eyes, spluttering at the bombardment of water.

“What the-? Geralt!” He twisted to shoot Geralt a scandalized look over his shoulder. The witcher stared back at him, a hint of amusement poking through an otherwise indifferent expression.

“What.”

“Don’t ‘what’ me! What the hell?!”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Turn around and lean back.”

Jaskier obeyed, but not without his fair share of complaints. He closed his eyes and ranted, fighting back a smile at the thought of what Geralt might be intending to do. Sure enough, he clamped his mouth shut as strong, calloused fingers dug into his scalp, scrubbing fresh-scented shampoo into his hair. A contented hum fell from Jaskier’s lips before he could catch it. Geralt snorted.

“If I had known you were so good at head massages, Geralt, I would’ve had you do this years ago.”

“I probably wouldn’t have done it.”

“You would’ve,” Jaskier replied confidently. “I have my ways of convincing you.”

“You mean nagging and pestering me until I comply to shut you up.”

“Oh-ho-ho! But it works, does it not?” For that, he got a particularly hard dig into his scalp. “Ow! Geralt!”

“Shut up and just sit there.”

“Well, I’ll certainly sit here, but I most definitely will _not_ stop talking.”

And he didn’t. He’d spent seven months with no one but a voice in his head to talk to, so he made sure Geralt damn well listened to everything he had to say. He told Geralt about how he learned to swim, how he accidentally summoned a siren, what it was like when he’d woken up after the cliff, and a bunch of other anecdotes from his time in the forests. Occasionally, Geralt would interject with his usual hum or a question here and there to show he was paying attention, but he mostly just listened to Jaskier ramble. He instructed Jaskier every now and again as he washed the bard’s hair, and before either of them knew it, Jaskier had finished bathing and they were switching out.

“Be glad I didn’t leave the water absolutely disgusting like _some_ people do,” Jaskier chastised, wrapping a towel around his waist as Geralt sunk into the bath. Geralt gave a half-hearted growl, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. I missed your boorish grunts, too. It’s endearing.”

Jaskier grabbed a pitcher, filled it with water, and promptly dumped it on Geralt’s face without warning. With a pleased expression, he watched as Geralt spluttered, shaking the water off his face and glaring at Jaskier with those fiery eyes.

“Yeah, that’ll teach you, wouldn’t it? Now lay back down so I can wash your filthy hair. Honestly, Geralt, have I taught you literally nothing about _basic hygiene?”_

~~~~~~~

“Looks good, doesn’t it?” Jaskier asked, twisting and turning in their inn room’s mirror as he admired his new doublet. “Feels great to be in some fresh, new clothes.”

Geralt hummed. “Suits you,” he grunted as he set their packs down in the corner of the room.

Jaskier gave an exaggerated gasp, pressing a hand to his chest. “Why, Geralt, is that _two_ compliments in _one_ day? That’s...That’s more than I usually get in a _year!”_

“Shut up,” was the resigned response.

“You know,” Jaskier mused, turning back to admire his reflection in the mirror, “if you keep telling me to shut up, I might actually heed to it one day.”

“That hasn’t happened in the past two decades.”

“Just you wait, Geralt. Give it _another_ two more decades.”

Geralt snorted, strapping his swords on his back again and waiting by the door with his arms crossed. “Are we going?”

Jaskier flashed him a blinding smile, loosely gripping the lute strap strung across his chest. “Well, by the Gods above. My dear witcher, dare I say it, have you _missed_ my _singing?”_ The uncomfortable look that passed over Geralt’s face was worth every copper in Jaskier’s pocket. “You _did._ I might just die right here and now.”

“I did not mourn your ass for seven months for you to die over an unintended compliment.”

“You _mourned?”_

“Fuck _off_ , Jaskier. Do you want to sing or not?”

“Of _course_ I do, darling,” the bard huffed, following Geralt out the room. “But this is my first time playing in front of a crowd in months. So excuse me if I want to look and sound my best.”

“Never thought you to be nervous.”

“Well, duh. I’m a-” Jaskier shot a look around the empty hallway before dropping his voice to a whisper anyway. “I’m a _siren_ now, Geralt. What if I accidentally, I dunno, _enchant_ someone or something?”

**_“You will be fine, love. I promise.”_ **

“You’ll be fine.”

Jaskier withheld a scoff. Well, if Geralt _and_ Oaris were telling him it would be fine, how could he _ever_ think differently? Obviously the assurance of a water goddess and witcher was the most reassuring thing in the world, yes? If only it were that easy…

Jaskier reached out and grabbed Geralt’s arm, halting the both of them before they made their way downstairs to the tavern. Geralt raised an eyebrow but said nothing else. Jaskier bit his lip and averted his eyes to glare at the staircase as he murmured,

“I don’t want to mess this up.”

Geralt remained silent for a moment before heaving a deep sigh. Taking his hand from Jaskier’s hold, he rested it on the bard’s shoulder and muttered, “You will be okay.”

Jaskier nodded shakily, a nervous huff of laughter escaping him. “Right. Nothing I haven’t done before. Except that it is because I actually have _power_ behind my voice now, power I don't know how to control and-"

A large hand clamped itself over his mouth. A startled noise from Jaskier was muffled as he looked up to lock eyes with Geralt.

The witcher stared down at him as he confidently said, "You will be fine."

Geralt waited until Jaskier finally nodded before letting go of Jaskier's mouth. The bard retaliated with exaggerated gestures of sticking his tongue out in disgust and mock-spitting like he had a foul taste in his mouth.

"You, dear friend, are absolutely _disgusting_." The two of them made their way down the stairs, Geralt rolling his eyes while Jaskier ranted. "Your hands are filthy-"

"I washed them."

"Oh, yeah, _sure_. But you also decided to clean your swords after our bath and have you forgotten how gross those are?"

"I wiped my hands."

Jaskier spluttered indignantly. "Wiping does not mean cleaning, Geralt!" 

Geralt shrugged. "Works well enough for me." Geralt slid onto a bench in the far corner of the packed tavern. Jaskier merely huffed and stood at the edge, placing his lute case down on the table and raising a hand to signal a barmaid. Upon gathering one's attention, he turned back to Geralt, hands occupied with opening the lute case as he continued,

"You and I are going to have a very long discussion. About a lot of things. I've been writing down a bunch of topics in my notebook, and we're gonna talk about each and every one of them."

Geralt rolled his eyes again. "I'm looking forward to it," he deadpanned.

"You should be." Jaskier flashed the barmaid a bright smile when she approached. "Three ales and two plates of whatever's best tonight."

The barmaid raised an eyebrow. "We have rabbit stew with the rabbit slightly burnt."

Jaskier blinked, slightly taken aback at the barmaid's bluntness, before quickly recovering. 

"Well, dinner is still dinner, I suppose. No matter how burnt." The charming smile never wavered.

The barmaid shook her head and shrugged. "Suit yourself." She turned on her heel and left.

Jaskier slowly craned his head back towards an amused Geralt and gave him a bewildered look. Geralt smirked back. 

"She was a delight, wasn't she?" the bard asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"The honest ones often are," Geralt replied dryly.

Jaskier snorted, taking his lute out of its case. He'd already tuned it in the room, so any movement or inspecting he did was his way of procrastinating his set. Jaskier knew Geralt was expecting him to be excited over performing again, and Jaskier had said he was because it was the truth, but the insecurities of no longer being human were weighing down on him. Geralt couldn't fix that, no matter how much Jaskier wanted him to assuage his fears. It was something the bard would have to do himself. 

The barmaid returned, placing three mugs of ale on their table. "Your dinners will be out shortly. Anything else I can get you?"

Jaskier flashed her another smile. "No, this is enough. Thank you."

"Mm." She stalked off without another glance.

Geralt snorted at Jaskier's affronted face. The bard's mouth opened to complain, but Geralt cut him off with a stern, "If song lyrics aren't the next words to come out of your mouth, then don't speak."

Jaskier huffed indignantly, but the pleased smile on his face belied any real annoyance. "I'm going, I'm going." He winked at Geralt. "It's only so often that the White Wolf begs for my singing."

"I'm not begging."

"By your standards, Geralt, you're practically on your knees."

"Hmm. You would like that, wouldn't you?" Geralt retorted, smirking into his ale as Jaskier squawked next to him.

"Why, you little-!"

" _Go._ "

Jaskier glared at him, taking his lute in one hand and jabbed a finger in Geralt's direction. "For that, you deserve this."

Geralt raised his eyebrow, but Jaskier paid him no mind, making his way to the middle of the tavern. His hands shook and he took more deep breaths than normal, but a wave of calm suddenly washed over him, a contented hum only he could hear echoing his head. At that, a confident smile brightened his eyes and made his face glow. He cleared his throat to gather everyone's attention. He expected his heart to skip a beat, for his words to falter, but he caught Geralt's encouraging eyes from the corner and felt Oaris wrap herself around his shoulders. 

He winked to his audience. "Evening, my fair patrons! My name is Jaskier, and with me as always, is the one and only, _Geralt of Rivia!"_

The whole tavern turned to where Jaskier gestured, all hoping to catch a glimpse of the famous White Wolf. Jaskier watched mouths drop in awe and excited whispers echo around the tavern, all while Geralt tried to best not to scowl at Jaskier in the event that he unintentionally sours the audience.

Jaskier strummed the first few notes on his lute. Everyone turned the attention back to him, not noticing the look of despair dawning on Geralt's face. Giving his best shit-eating grin to his companion, Jaskier sang,

_"When a humble bard,  
Graced a ride along,  
With Geralt of Rivia,  
Along came this song..."_

~~~~~~~

"You're an asshole."

"Who, me?" Jaskier pointed innocently to himself, trying his best not to laugh as he watched Geralt undress from his spot on the bed.

Geralt glared at him in response, shucking his tunic and pants until he was in nothing but his smallclothes. Jaskier scooted over to make room for Geralt on the bed, the other man promptly dropping himself on the mattress. 

"Who the fuck sings the same damn song five times in one night?"

"Not my fault 'Toss a Coin' is still a fan-favorite after two decades."

Geralt shot him a dark look that said, _"It is exactly your fault,"_ but he otherwise kept silent. He hummed and closed his eyes, turning his head to face the ceiling. From his sitting position against the headboard, Jaskier could look down and survey the planes and sharp edges of Geralt's face. It would've been nicer to memorize his best friend's eyes, but that was assuming he hadn't already. Twenty-two years was plenty of time to acquaint himself to the man he would put his life on the line for.

He must've been staring for too long because Geralt suddenly grunted, "I can feel you staring."

Jaskier probably should've blushed or been ashamed, but he only let a soft smile cross his lips, even though Geralt couldn't see it. He quietly said, "Forgive me for missing you, you old fool."

At that, Geralt did open his eyes, and those amber orbs stared back at him with more gentleness and care than Jaskier had ever witnessed from Geralt in all the years they'd traveled together combined. His heart stuttered because, _fuck,_ he may have regretted stepping off that cliff all those months ago, but he really couldn't bring himself to regret this. This new friendship, this new step in their relationship. Jaskier may be a siren now, may be a monster, may be longer-living, but Geralt was seeing past it all, still seeing the bard Jaskier thought he could no longer be.

"I...missed you, too."

Jaskier snorted, but his smile never faded. "I know you did." He could've kept the conversation going, but Geralt was starting to look vaguely uncomfortable, which Jaskier understood. Geralt had never been one for expressing his emotions, and they had done a lot of emotional breakthroughs the past couple of days. 

Deciding to take pity on the poor witcher, Jaskier simply let the conversation drop by reaching over to the nightstand on his side and extinguishing the last candle. The room was now doused in darkness as Jaskier slid down to meet Geralt on their pillows. Normally, this would be where they turn their backs to each other and fall asleep without touching, but Jaskier refused to let that happen this time.

Almost a year of loneliness and hurt had Jaskier rolling onto his side, facing Geralt, and placing his head on the witcher's chest. He could hear the sharp intake of breath as loudly as he could hear the slow _thump...thump_ of Geralt's heart. Refusing to dwell too much on it, Jaskier dragged an arm across Geralt's abdomen and pulled himself closer, effectively cuddling up to his best friend. Once in position, a contented sigh fell unbidden from his lips, but he didn't feel the need to catch it anyway. He let his eyes flutter shut, refusing to acknowledge Geralt's tense muscles beneath him.

Sure enough, about half a minute later, Geralt slumped bonelessly into the mattress, letting one of his arms wrap around Jaskier's back. A pleased hum echoed around them. 

"Good night, Jaskier," Geralt whispered, voice suspiciously hoarse but still gentle.

Jaskier smiled in his sleep. "Good night, Geralt."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is that for the more substantial chapters. After this, it's the epilogue! HOWEVER, even though we are reaching the end of this story, I still have the sequel coming, and I have a really big ask of you guys:
> 
> I...don't normally write romance. I never have, and I've never really planned to. I'm not one for pairings and I am a huge supporter of strong friendships being worth more than a good romance. But for some reason, the Geraskier ship is something I really can get behind, and it's something I can see myself writing. If I'm being one-hundred percent honest with you guys, their friendship already _feels_ like a romance to me. They're supportive of each other, they care for each other, there's no secrets between them...it's _healthy._ (Not in the show, anyway, Geralt's a bit of an ass still). With that being said, I have a question for you guys: 
> 
> Would you guys mind Geraskier being a thing in the sequel? It won't be the main focus - I have way too much of the storyline already planned out for that - but it would be a part of it. Is that something you guys want, or do you just want to keep them as friends? I'll leave that decision up to y'all. I'm fine with it either way.
> 
> And I know this AN is super long, but for those interested in the Eskel story, would you guys like a sneak peek in the end notes of the epilogue? Let me know! Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate you all!


	11. Sing All My Worries Away (Geralt's Final Interlude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It still felt like a dream.
> 
> Most days, Geralt would wake up and greet the soft tones of dawn breaking through the treetops, expecting to turn his head and see no one but Roach by his side. Even after two weeks of reuniting with Jaskier, it didn't feel real. It was all too good to be true. But every morning, he woke up, took in a shaky deep breath, turned his head, and saw his long-time companion snoring softly in the bedroll beside him. And Geralt of Rivia would smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is! The last chapter, the epilogue, the _conclusion_ to our journey! This chapter actually came out longer than I anticipated, so I hope you guys don't mind.
> 
> I...I really can't thank you guys enough. You all have been so absolutely amazing to me throughout this story, and you have no idea how much that means to me. It's been so long since I've written a chapter story - or a real story, in general - so I've been excruciatingly out of practice, yet you guys have been so supportive anyway. It means so much and I can't find the words to express how grateful I am. So thank you. Thank you so much for reading, commenting, leaving your kudos...everything. I love you all so much, and I hope this chapter is good enough for you. Thank you all so, so much for sticking around and enjoying this story. _Thank you._
> 
> Stick around in the endnotes if you're interested in a short sneak peek at the Eskel-centric story coming up!
> 
> Without further ado, please enjoy the epilogue!

_I'm gonna wake up tomorrow,_  
_And smell the roses._  
_Throw my hands out and spiral_  
_Like all I know is_  
_How to wake up and_  
_Sing all my worries away_  
_From the top of my lungs._

~ _Top of My Lungs,_ Max Vangeli, DATABOY

~~~~~~~

It still felt like a dream.

Most days, Geralt would wake up and greet the soft tones of dawn breaking through the treetops, expecting to turn his head and see no one but Roach by his side. Even after two weeks of reuniting with Jaskier, it didn't feel real. It was all too good to be true. But every morning, he woke up, took in a shaky deep breath, turned his head, and saw his long-time companion snoring softly in the bedroll beside him. And Geralt of Rivia would smile.

Emotions were a work in progress these days. Jaskier had been adamant about that.

_"Twenty-two years, Geralt! Twenty-two years of grunts and hums as your primary choice of communication! Now don't get me wrong, I find it quite endearing that we have our own secret language going on here, but would it really kill you to say a few whole words every now and again?"_

Geralt tried to be a bit more vocal. It was the least he could do after all the trouble he'd caused since the mountain. In return, Jaskier was patient - as he had always been - and would often guide Geralt through the witcher's stilted thought process. He'd been living for over a century, but expression of feelings had never made it into the curriculum at Kaer Morhen.

Things were the same while also not. Their dynamic fell right back into old ways, as if they never parted. Sure, there were more words on Geralt's part, less biting remarks, and no lingering bitterness between arguments, but the overall sanctity of their friendship remained the same. Getting used to Jaskier as a siren, though...that was something Geralt was struggling to adjust to.

The fact that Jaskier's human appearance was more or less preserved helped a lot, but there were times when Geralt would notice that Jaskier was a bit more on the monstrous side than either of them would like to admit. During the past couple of weeks, they had crossed into a village where Jaskier's songs hadn't made the impact they were designed to. Jaskier had been feral before when people criticized witchers, but the way his teeth sharpened and eyes brightened a shocking blue at the mere whisper of _"filthy mutant"_ unsettled Geralt in more ways than he'd felt comfortable with. He'd leapt forward almost immediately, hooking an arm around Jaskier's waist just in time as the bard's fingernails seemingly grew right before his eyes and hauled the both of them out of the tavern. It'd taken a while for Jaskier to calm down completely, siren features still present during that time, but it'd given Geralt time to really look his friend over.

Jaskier wasn't the exact same anymore, Geralt knew. He could see it in the way Jaskier would itch for a bath more often than he'd used to, or how his body seemed so tense all the time when he sang, like he was holding back the strain of something primal. He wished he could tell Jaskier to let it go, that he wouldn't judge him, but he couldn't.

As much as Geralt hated to admit it, he was afraid.

He was afraid of who - or what - Jaskier might become one day, afraid that the bard will no longer be the friend Geralt remembered him to be. He was afraid that Jaskier would eventually succumb to his new form, afraid of the possibility that Geralt would have to take a silver sword to Jaskier's neck. He was afraid, _so fucking afraid,_ but when those fears started to grow a bit too much, an inexplicable calm would wash over him. Geralt didn't know what it was, but when his hands started to shake and his heart beat faster than it should, an invisible blanket of peace would drape itself over his shoulders, loosening his muscles and opening up his lungs to breathe fully again. Once, Geralt likened it to Jaskier's description of Oaris. That thought left as soon as it came. Oaris was devoted to Jaskier, and no one else. He attributed the feeling to his increase of meditation instead.

"Geralt, it's getting rather late. Reckon we should stop for the night?"

Geralt glanced down from his perch atop Roach, looking over at his companion. Jaskier's eyes were glowing a little bit brighter in the night, not as much as they did in the tavern or would underwater, but Geralt assumed they would always be like that now, rather than a sign of Jaskier losing his grip on his siren side.

With a nod, Geralt slid off Roach and led her to the woods surrounding the path, Jaskier following not far behind. Soft music filled the air, and Geralt briefly closed his eyes, savoring the sound of the lute. It'd been months since he heard Jaskier's playing in earnest. Traveling with the bardless lute had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done. Often, he would look at the lute and remember all the times he would tell Jaskier to shut up, to stop singing, to quiet his racket. Geralt didn't say that much anymore. There were times, of course, where his senses would be too overstimulated to handle Jaskier's noise, but he was getting better at voicing his problems in a more polite manner, and Jaskier was more than understanding.

But times like these, where everything was calm and still and the lute was the only noise surrounding them, Geralt allowed himself to embrace what he had so longingly missed. If it were up to him, he would never let this go again, never take it for granted. Jaskier would never leave his side, never doubt his place in Geralt's life again, and if Destiny herself had something to say about it, she could go fuck herself.

"Here," Geralt said, bringing Roach to a halt in a decently-sized clearing. He began to unsaddle her, detaching their bags and bringing out his curry comb. With a jerk of his chin in a vague direction, he continued, "There's a river that way." An unspoken agreement passed between the two of them.

Jaskier flashed him a bright smile, one that made Geralt's chest warm because, _damn,_ he'd missed that. Then the bard was off, the sweet scent of happiness and excitement lingering in the clearing long after he'd disappeared. Geralt chuckled quietly, turning to focus his attention on brushing down his horse.

"I missed him," he confessed, voice low as if admitting to a dark secret.

Roach snorted, side-eyeing him. _"Yeah, no shit,"_ came the unsaid response.

Geralt pursed his lips. "I'm sorry for how I treated you this year."

Her tail swished back and forth. _"You should be, you ass."_

"I won't do it again. I promise."

Roach nudged her head against Geralt's shoulder, gentle but firm. _"I know you won't."_

Geralt hummed, a contented noise, as he finished brushing down her coat. He patted her flank lovingly and gave her a warm smile. With that, he left her to munch on the grass nearby as he set to start the campfire. Jaskier still hadn't returned, likely frolicking with Oaris, leaving Geralt to set up their camp and hunt. He didn't mind as much as he probably should've. He'd seen the way Jaskier would shuffle on the path, itching to throw himself in the nearest body of water and swim. Geralt would let him have his fun for now, though they would have to discuss how to move forward if they were ever in a position where water wasn't readily available.

After a carefully cast Igni, the campfire crackled and lit up the clearing a bit more. Geralt laid out their bedrolls, setting them closer than they used to sleep in their earlier travels. It was something they preferred now. After so long of being apart, they hardly wanted to stay away.

An unbidden sigh fell from Geralt's lips as he readied himself to hunt. He was starting to get tired, too, having exhausted himself during a griffin contract the day before, but, hopefully, it wouldn't take long to find dinner. He grunted as he rose to his knees, only to stop when the snapping of branches caught his attention. Almost immediately after, the nearly overbearing scent of river water bombarded his nose.

Jaskier made his way into the clearing, just as dry as he was before he'd left, but his complexion was bright and livelier. Much more alive than the dead trout dangling in his grasp. Geralt raised an eyebrow.

"Oaris caught us dinner?" Jaskier offered, a hesitant answer to the silent question. He lifted up the trout.

It was a decent size, and Geralt couldn't help the relieved sagging of his shoulders. Grateful that he wouldn't have to hunt, Geralt sent up a silent prayer he wasn't sure Oaris heard, thanking her as he took the trout from Jaskier's hands. The two of them fell into their tasks, Geralt gutting the fish as Jaskier milled about, collecting herbs and spices they'd bought at the last village they stayed in.

"Refreshed?" Geralt asked. He immediately cringed at the feeble attempt to start a conversation.

Jaskier didn't seem to mind, however, giving him a genuine smile as he replied, "Definitely. Nothing better than a nice dip in a cold river after walking miles during an unbearably hot day. And a free dinner to go alongside it? Oaris spoils us."

Geralt opened his mouth to reply, only to stop when he saw Jaskier's head tilt slightly to the side in the endearing way that meant he was listening to Oaris speak. He waited patiently, knowing Jaskier would likely relay the conversation back to him soon.

Sure enough, Jaskier chuckled softly and turned his attention back to the witcher. "She says that dinner is the least she can do for you since you saved one of her ponds from being destroyed by the griffin yesterday."

Geralt hummed. "I didn't do much."

Jaskier looked affronted. "Oaris begs to differ. She says that, without you, the griffin would have knocked all those trees into her waters."

"You're...welcome?" he murmured, unsure and still hesitant on speaking to an entity he couldn't see or hear.

Jaskier barked out a laugh. "Don't hurt yourself there, Geralt. She says to eat her dinner as a way to accept her gratitude instead of looking constipated."

"I do _not_ -"

"I may have taken some liberties with her response," Jaskier interrupted, waving a hand in dismissal. "The fact of the matter remains. Oaris is thankful to you, and she has gifted us with a delightful dinner that does not consist of rabbit, which, thank Gods, really because, for as grateful as I am for your impeccable hunting prowess, Geralt, one can stomach only rabbit for so long."

Geralt felt the corners of his lips twitch upwards in response. He thrust the prepared fish to Jaskier, who fumbled with it for a moment before sending a half-hearted glare back, "Cook it then."

"Would it kill you to say _please?"_ Jaskier grumbled.

Geralt stayed silent for a moment, but, just to fuck with him, he asked gently, "Please?"

He watched Jaskier nearly drop the entire trout into the fire, eyes widening and curses tumbling out of his mouth as he struggled to catch the slippery fish. "Fuck, Geralt, you can't just- What the _hell_ -?"

Geralt shrugged. "You asked me to say it."

"Well, yes, but I didn't exactly _expect_ you to-"

"Don't ask for something and then not expect it. It'll get you killed."

Jaskier frowned. "I asked if it would kill _you_ to say please. Why would I die?"

"You like to goad your enemies."

"I do not _goad_ my enemies!" Jaskier argued, looking unreasonably offended. "I simply call out their bluffs!"

Geralt raised an eyebrow. "And if they're not bluffing?"

He looked on in amusement as Jaskier's face contorted into some emotion Geralt couldn't recognize. If Jaskier had thought Geralt looked constipated before, then what the fuck could Geralt call _this_?

"It's a good thing I have my witcher by my side, isn't it, then?"

Geralt refused to let the warm feeling rising in his chest to distract him from their current argument. Which he was _winning_ , so Gods be damned if he was letting this go. "Hm. And if I'm not by your side at that moment? Dead."

"Your lack of faith in me, Geralt, is truly hurtful. You have wounded me so."

"I see you have yet to lose your knack for exaggerating, bard," Geralt muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, fuck you very much," Jaskier replied without heat. "You missed my embellished chatter."

Geralt opened his mouth to reply, only to get cut off by an accusatory finger pointed in his direction and a quick, " _Don't_ answer that. I can't take two heart attacks so soon after each other." Geralt clamped his mouth shut and sent a feral grin in return. Jaskier snorted and turned back to the fish.

Closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the tree behind him, Geralt allowed himself to fall into a shallow, meditative state. Only a few seconds later, the sounds of Jaskier's lute filled the clearing, but it was soft, not distracting, like Jaskier was trying to be mindful of Geralt's focus. Geralt cracked open one eye and made contact with Jaskier, whose hands were hovering questioningly over the strings. Geralt gave him a curt nod before closing his eye again. Jaskier's playing resumed, and the two sat in relative silence as the fish cooked over the fire.

This was something Geralt had missed dearly. Underneath the smell of river water, nature, and the cooking trout, there was the familiar scent of lavender, vanilla, and chamomile. Breathing in deeply, Geralt withheld a happy sigh bubbling in his chest. When had the smell of lavender, vanilla, and chamomile become home?

At some point, when Geralt seemingly lost track of time, Jaskier's music stopped for a bit, and Geralt could hear the fish being taken off the fire. Opening his eyes, he looked on as Jaskier efficiently sliced the fish into halves and skewered them, handing one to Geralt and keeping the other for himself. Geralt hummed his thanks and took a bite. He savored the taste, relishing in the herbs and spices Jaskier had flavored the fish with before cooking. He'd eaten nothing but bland venison and jerky during the past year, never quite having Jaskier's culinary talents. He also felt that he never deserved it, he remembered with a wince.

Geralt turned his attention to Jaskier, who was sitting a few feet away, nibbling on his dinner as he stared absentmindedly at the fire. His head was slightly tilted, so he was probably talking to Oaris. Geralt knew he probably shouldn't interrupt, but it was a little too quiet for his liking - nearly twenty-three years ago, he would've laughed if someone told him he didn't like the quiet - and so he opened his mouth and called softly,

"Jaskier."

The bard immediately looked over at him, conversation with Oaris likely cut off abruptly. "Yes?"

Well, fuck. Now Geralt had his attention, but he had no clue how to voice what he actually wanted. He knew _what_ he wanted, but _saying it_ was a different matter entirely. He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, Jaskier raising an eyebrow in the meantime.

"Words, dear witcher," Jaskier teased lightly. "I know you're not well-versed in using them, but practice makes perfect, I assure you."

Geralt scowled, a resigned huff following soon after. "I..."

_Fuck! Why is this so hard?_

A fond smile crossed Jaskier's lips. The bard shook his head in amusement before saying, "Alright. Just this once, I'll let you do your little grunts and hums. _Just this once!"_

He didn't have to tell Geralt twice.

"Hm." Geralt tilted his head to the spot next to him.

Geralt could admit he was startled by how quickly Jaskier's face lit up, the fond smile growing into a toothy grin. In no time at all, Jaskier was up on his feet and plopping right back down, this time nestled against Geralt's side. Geralt exhaled deeply through his nose, tension he hadn't realized existed leaving his muscles as soon as Jaskier rested his head on Geralt's shoulder. The two continued to eat in silence for a moment, broken only by a quiet,

"You know, as much as I love hearing your voice when you talk, sometimes your nonverbal side is much more endearing."

Geralt smirked. "Hm."

His chest was immediately whacked by Jaskier's hand. "No."

"...No?"

"No. I said once. I meant it. Use your words."

"You just said it was endearing."

"I also said 'sometimes.' Honestly, Geralt, I feel like you tune me out when I talk," Jaskier whined, sounding exasperated, but Geralt knew he wasn't.

"I do."

"You're horrible."

"And, yet, here we are."

Geralt fought back a smile as Jaskier sat up, narrowing his eyes at him. He jabbed a finger into Geralt's chest. "You do _not_ get to use my words against me."

Geralt rolled his eyes. "You said it over a decade ago. It is not ' _your_ ' words."

"But I said it!"

"As did hundreds of others, I'm sure."

"Incorrigible!"

"Hm."

Jaskier huffed loudly, throwing himself back into his previous spot against Geralt. "I don't know what I see in you. From what it sounds like, your brother Eskel would be a better friend. Maybe even Lambert."

Geralt couldn't help the amused snort that escaped him. "Eskel, maybe. Lambert? You wouldn't last a _week_ with that prick."

"Surely he isn't that bad."

"If you can't handle me, then you will definitely throw something at Lambert."

"Well, now! I think I handle you just fine! A witcher tamer, so to speak."

Geralt looked down with scrutinizing eyes. "You have not _tamed_ me, nor have you run into any other witchers."

Jaskier grinned cheekily back at him. "That you know of."

"...What the fuck did you do?"

A laugh echoed around them. "Nothing, love. Nothing." At Geralt's disbelieving look, Jaskier rolled his eyes. "Really. I haven't. I was joking. I have not run into any other witchers. Cross my heart," he said, doing exactly that, fingers marking an X over his chest.

Geralt hummed.

"Don't you dare!"

"Eat your fish, bard."

~~~~~~~

Thoroughly stuffed, the two lounged next to each other in a comfortable quiet. Geralt relaxed against the tree, one leg pulled up to his chest and the other flat on the ground. One arm rested on his pulled-up knee while the other one lay limply on his lap. Jaskier was sitting cross-legged next to him, still resting his head back against Geralt's shoulder. Instead of fish in his hand, he held his lute, playing a different but equally gentle tune as before. Geralt tilted his head slightly to the side, letting it rest atop Jaskier's. If the bard was surprised by the show of vulnerability, he didn't say, and Geralt was thankful for it.

Jaskier plucked at the strings absentmindedly. No words could describe how grateful he was for this moment, how both of them were. After the past year, never did they think they could have this again. The mountain had felt like the end, but then came the cliff, and they'd both thought there would never be a "next time." Now there was, though. And the world would have to pry it from their cold, dead hands because they were never letting this go.

The evening was calm and quiet. Everything felt safe, and they were by each other's side like they were made to fit together. Two pieces of a puzzle that had been incomplete for so long, fit snugly together in a witcher-bard shaped hole.

But, of course, all nice things must eventually come to an end.

_**"I hate to interrupt your time, Dandelion, but I am afraid you must hurry."** _

Jaskier shot into an upright sitting position from where he was leaning against Geralt, the music stopping abruptly. He'd startled the poor witcher, probably hit Geralt's jaw when he sat up, but he couldn't think to apologize. Oaris's tone was far too worried and solemn for his liking. "What's going on?"

_**"Cintra has fallen."** _

"What?!"

At that, Geralt sat straighter as well, muscles drawing taut with apprehension. "Jask?"

_**"The princess is alive, but you must hurry."** _

"You'll take us to her?"

_**"Of course."** _

Jaskier turned his head to face Geralt, eyes wide and hands shaking in his lap. "Geralt, Cintra has fallen."

"Fuck." Geralt averted his eyes into the forest, jaw tensed as he appeared to mull the words over in his head.

"Your Child Surprise is alive, though. We have to get moving. "

Geralt's gaze snapped back to Jaskier, something akin to shock in his eyes. "You'll come with?"

Jaskier scoffed, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. "You really thought I wouldn't?"

"Hm."

Jaskier rolled his eyes fondly, clambering to his feet. He held his hand out to the stunned witcher on the ground. The two of them had no time to waste, and Geralt knew that. Jaskier gripped Geralt's hand tightly and pulled him to his feet. For a moment, they did nothing but stare at each other, searching for silent answers. Jaskier held strong. He'd meant it; he wasn't going to let Geralt go alone, and Geralt had no plans to abandon him whatsoever. After a few moments, Geralt nodded, a hidden _"thank you"_ in his amber eyes.

Jaskier gave him a soft smile and placed a gentle hand on Geralt's shoulder. "You dumb witcher. Let's go find your Child Surprise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak Peek at _What is Pain if I Cannot Feel?_
> 
> Eskel sunk to his knees, sweat dripping down his face despite the chilly air of the Blue Mountains biting at his skin. His pants, soaked from the snow beneath him, left the ground a bright red as the wounds on his legs bled through the fabric and over the gashes left in the material. His silver sword fell limp in his hand, no longer able to find the strength to wield it. Eskel gasped harshly, ragged breaths drawn in as a desperate attempt to keep himself alive. His other arm wrapped itself around his abdomen, hoping to staunch the bleeding of his several chest wounds at once, but he knew it was futile. 
> 
> Eskel cast a look around the clearing, heart sinking lower than he had. He'd failed. Bodies of children lay slain around him, some limbs barely clinging on while others were cast away, dismembered without a care. Blood coated the snow alongside other bodily fluids. All from _children._ What had he done?


End file.
